Broken Eyes in a Busy Crowd
by Temorali
Summary: Ivan Braginski was a lonely man who saw darkness and corruption in everyone. Yao Wang believed he could never be anyone of worth or mean anything to anyone. But when these two broken souls cross paths, they'll both realize that there may be something more to life than they've come to believe. Russia x China Modern AU, human names used.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Ivan**

Ivan Braginski was alone.

It was a fact that he had accepted long ago. As a child, little Ivan had endlessly wondered and mourned over his apparent inability to make friends. As a grown man, however, he had accepted this as a simple truth and was no longer bothered by the prospect. For whatever reason, people didn't like him, and that was that.

When the tall, blonde haired Russian got out of bed that morning, he had met the day with the same peaceful resignation that he did all the others. He would go to college, go to work, and then return home, doing things of various importance for a small while before finally retiring to his bed until the crack of dawn awoke him once more. Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad. It was consistent, familiar, and even though he had no one to talk to as a friend, painless. After all, watching the interactions between others was sufficient enough. People were interesting, too- he had never entirely understood how the human social structure worked, having been outside if all his life. Observing people was like learning the way his world spun. He'd been watching from the outside in for so long now, in fact, that Ivan had gotten frighteningly accurate at reading people. He could see past their false pretenses and deep into their true motives, as if they were naught but a thin sheet of glass.

_All he ever wanted was your money,_ he'd predict, or _she is only using you so she can make her ex-boyfriend jealous._ For a while, it was like a game; Ivan would figure out why one person would cozy up to another, then would wait and see if he was right.

It was sickening how many times he was correct.

That was most likely part of the reason Ivan was able to accept not having people he was close to, he often mused. The relationships he had observed between other people were always fake. Very few people truly cared about one another. Very few insects in this busy little ant hill would associate with another for anything less than their own personal gain.

_Who would want a friend if they knew he or she was only using you as another rung in their ladder to success?_

Not Ivan.

He had stopped participating in this game years ago.

The Russian had been alone from the very beginning, so it was only natural for him to be alone now.

And you know what?

He liked it that way.

* * *

_The author's notes aren't going to be that long, don't worry!_

_So these first two chapters are rather short, I'm aware, but they'll get bigger later. Think of these as little intro-chapters._

_Also, this is a fanfiction written back and forth between my little sister and I. Every chapter will change the point of view, unless it seems unnecessary or the like. I'm writing Ivan (Russia), and she's writing Yao (China)._

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia. Wish I did, but such is life._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Yao**

He had never been anything special; he'd realized that a long time ago.

He was a young man of Chinese heritage, by the name of Yao Wang (or Wang Yao, in the Chinese order). With dark eyes and dark hair-tied into a ponytail, as always-Yao looked like the perfect image of a Chinaman. The perfect image, maybe, but surely not perfect in any other aspects.

He'd used to pride himself as the perfect older brother. His parents were long gone; they'd died years before he'd moved out on his own. Yao, being the eldest of the family, had tried his best to raise his seven siblings right-but they were independent people, and wouldn't listen to anything he'd said. It took him a long time to accept that he wasn't a good enough brother, but he'd felt more than worthless when he had. They didn't need him, never had. That was just how it was.

Then he'd turned to painting. It got everything out in the open for him. Art couldn't lie, like he'd lied to himself all those years-like his siblings had lied to him, when they'd called him an awesome brother. He painted abstracts, scenery, animals, and people. He honed his skills for a long time, making it his goal to get into a real art showing-or maybe even an art gallery, or something. He wanted to prove he was special.

For years, Yao entered his art for consideration for galleries and showings and contests and _everything _he could think of. He'd gotten compliments, spots in small displays here and there, but whenever it really mattered, he was turned away. Eventually, he just stopped trying.

_Why bother, when you'd never be anyone important? _he thought. He never gave up painting-on the contrary, it was the only thing keeping him sane-but he no longer submitted any of his work. Instead, he worked as a cook in a small restaurant, just to keep living. He enjoyed cooking, but it had gotten dull after a few years of never-ending monotony. He still went to college, with an art major, but he held no high hopes of actually being someone.

He was Yao Wang, a cook in a backwater town where no one knew his name. He was a failure as a brother, and an embarrassment as an artist. But most of all, he was no one.

And no one was all he'd ever be.

* * *

_Hi! The main writer's little sister, here! Just want to let you know that I have ZERO experience writing Yao-kun, so you'll just have to bear with me. We cool? Good. _

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or its characters._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Ivan**

"_Someone is out there. Perhaps nearby. Perhaps far away. Or even further. And that someone is looking for beauty, for wonder, for hope, for an idea, for love. And they aren't sure where to find it. But chances are: they aren't going to find it in a __where__, but in a __who__." – Josh James Riebock _

That day had started like all the others. The Russian man's eyes slid open as soon as the first crack of light broke through the shades and touched his face. He lay there for a few moments, staring at the window—he squinted his eyes, trying to see past the shades out towards the glowing sky behind. Upon hearing the softest hum of birdsong, Ivan stirred himself from his drowsy laziness and sat upright slowly. Messy blonde locks fell into his eyes, and he ran his fingers through them with a quiet and slightly repressed yawn.

_It's going to be another typical day_, he mused. Though his thoughts were foggy and his mind still slow, the single phrase broke through with perfect clarity.

Or, was it dull and monotonous? It may have been. That single thought always seemed to be one of Ivan's first. Sometimes it was speckled with flecks of resentment, other times, a grim indifference. Today it happened to be the latter. With an inaudible sigh, Ivan stood and dressed himself in simple clothes covered by a large beige coat. After tidying himself up, he walked to the door of his small, cold house (the heater had the inconveniency to break in the middle of winter) and fingered the cream-colored scarf hanging up by the door. He wrapped the large cloth around his neck with such a timid care, as if it would unravel on the spot if he was too rough. Then, without another moment of hesitation, he pulled it up over his mouth and nose and walked out of the door.

* * *

The streets were crowded with people walking to whatever destination they were each heading. Ivan was in the midst of them, feeling slightly awkward and out of place amongst the shorter people surrounding him. They paid him no heed, however, and continued bustling about and chit-chatting and taking sips from their coffee to warm them up. The Russian's every breath was visible in the cold, biting breeze, and he pulled his scarf higher in a poor attempt to retain as much heat as possible. Someone to his right bumped into him, causing him to stumble, but the offending man paid no heed and just continued his power walk down the street. _Commonplace,_ Ivan thought as he narrowed his eyes at the man's back. He didn't bother to speak out, however…it wouldn't matter in the slightest.

_It's not like anyone would change even if I said something. They don't care. They never will._

Ivan continued walking down that narrow gray street with even steps. After being jostled around more by the hurried passersby, the blonde tuned out his surroundings and left the rest to his personal subconscious autopilot. It was only after he reached his destination—the college he was currently attending—that his brain came back on and he felt the cold sinking its teeth into his entire being like a starved wolf. With renewed motivation born from instinct, Ivan increased his pace and hurried into the building.

The warmth inside provided instant relief to the Russian's shivering form, and he felt like melting there on the spot. He found a bench to his left to sit on, and he rubbed his gloved hands together in an attempt to speed up the relief. The college around him was a homely little place, well-built and comfortable, but also a bit cramped and old. The other college students often bumped into one another on accident just by walking down the hallway-and for Ivan, who towered over the majority of the student population, this was quite inconvenient. Not to mention that some doorways were really low. Which meant he had to duck. Which was also inconvenient.

Ivan pulled out a thin sheet of paper from his pocket and looked it over quickly. His first class was English, which was a necessity due to his foreign origins. He was rather fluent in English, if he said so himself, but it was still better for him to take it just in case. With a last glance at his room number, he slipped the small paper back into his pocket, gathered his things from his locker, and walked towards his room.

* * *

After ducking his head to get through that annoyingly low-placed doorway, Ivan Braginski walked into a homely room that smelled faintly of heather. He took a seat next to a dark-haired man with his hair in a loose ponytail, who was lightly sketching something on a piece of paper. Ivan glanced at it for but a moment before quickly losing interest (not being able to see the drawing in question). He took out his notebook and jotted down a few things as the instructor began his lecture. He was going over some of the movements of writing that America had gone through during it's early ages. At one interval, the instructor asked, "Mr. Wang. Could you explain to me what transcendentalism is?"

The man with the ponytail and the sketches next to Ivan stood up quickly. "Wo ke yi. Transcendentalism is a movement in writing that focuses on improvement of individuality over conformity and going beyond the limits of who you are, to be a better you-aru." The man spoke in an ample Chinese accent, Ivan noted to himself. And while he answered the question in perfect English, he ended his sentence with a subtle "aru", though what that meant the Russian didn't know.

"Well done, Mr. Wang. As he explained…"

Ivan found himself ignoring what the teacher was saying as he watched the Chinese man take his seat once more and quickly go back to drawing. He moved with an uncertain elegance, as if he could break out of his shell but wasn't sure if he wanted to. He scarcely paused from his sketching and didn't bother to take any notes, and for some reason Ivan couldn't make himself look away. There was something…different, about this man, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. And that annoyed him. Suddenly Wang put down his pencil turned to Ivan with an indescribable look on his face. The Russian barely had time to snap out of his musings before the man whispered to him briskly.

"Could you stop staring at me already?" Wang's eyes narrowed in what was probably annoyance. "It's distracting. And unnerving. Aru."

Ivan simply put on one of his signature tiny smiles and giggled softly. "да, I could, but I want to look at you. Can't people look at whatever they want?"

The Chinese man stared at him incredulously for a moment before puffing out his cheeks in annoyance. "No."

"Hmm?"

"No. You can't look at me. I don't want you to."

Ivan tapped his chin with his index finger in mock thought. "Well see, that's quite the predicament, because I like looking at pretty things." At the more than surprised look on Wang's face, Ivan giggled again. "But I'll do what you want this time, and I will not look at you. This makes you happy?"

Wang tried to form a sentence, but only ended up stuttering the beginnings of several statements before turning back to drawing with a frustrated huff. Ivan simply smiled to himself as he pretended to pay attention to his instructor until class ended.

And that very same night, as Ivan lay in his bed, with thoughts of a strange Chinese man flitting about his mind, he couldn't help but think that today hadn't been as typical as he first thought.

* * *

_Wo ke yi (Chinese): I can_

_да (phon. "da")_ _Russian: yeah_

_Sorry for the wait! I'm a little bad at updating, but my sister is on this, so expect chapter 4 soon! Thanks for waiting!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Yao**

"_To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."  
— Oscar Wilde_

"Well see, that's quite the predicament, because I like looking at pretty things."

Yao was speechless. He didn't even know this man's name, and yet he said such a thing! Yao was shocked, to say the least.

The stranger giggled. "But I'll do what you want this time, and I will not look at you. This makes you happy?" Yao tried to say something, but couldn't get a clear word out. Instead, he just huffed and turned back to his sketching.

It was a drawing of a hummingbird landing on an amaryllis flower. The sketch was coming along well, but mistakes were evident everywhere. A line out of place. Proportions a little off. A patch shaded darker than the rest. Lines crossing where they weren't supposed to. Something that just didn't look as well as it could have. They frustrated him to no end, the flaws. They were what defined him as a person, as a failure.

And he hated it.

Walking home from his late-night restaurant job, Yao pondered over the day's events. He'd failed yet again to successfully finish a single art piece, something that had become increasingly normal as time went on. He'd met a strange, violet-eyed giant who had flirted with him for seemingly no reason. Certainly, that was an odd occurrence, but it didn't bother him much. The moment was past. All was said and done.

Finally, he found his apartment building-with his meager earnings he hadn't been able to afford a house or a dorm in his college-and slowly made his way up the stairs to his floor. The warmth of the place was a blessing, as the night air had been beyond frigid. It didn't help that he didn't have very thick coats. He spent most of his money on art supplies.

He moved across the hall to his apartment, number 206. He reached into his schoolbag, fumbling for his keys. Which he promptly dropped when he found them. Cursing under his breath, he bent and picked them up. He could already feel stress bearing down on him. Dropping his keys certainly did _not _help with that, no matter how trivial a thing it might have been.

So he did as he always did. He unlocked his door, shut it softly behind him, threw his bag on the nearest table, gathered his supplies, and _painted_. He poured his emotions out on the canvas, shoved all his frustration and anger and disappointment out of his body and into his brush. Painting was a release for him. He didn't care how it turned out-he trashed most of these artworks the moment he was done with them-it only mattered that he got his feelings out. Painting was what kept Yao living. He wouldn't have been able to survive without it.

The brush moved on its own, sending color streaming across the formerly blank image. He felt alive. He felt free. When he painted, he lived without worry. He pushed out all his fury onto the canvas. Then, his depression. It went on, each stroke mirroring his own soul. Finally, when his arm tired and his movements slowed, he stepped back to look at his work.

It was a new subject, to him. He hadn't even realized what he'd been painting before. It was a field of heather, with flames licking up around it, threatening to swallow its beauty and leave not a single trace. In the center of the field stood a man. But not so much a man as the figure of a man. He was standing tall above the inferno and the field, painted an odd shade of violet. He looked strong, dominating, but also despairing. Like a king, watching his castle fall to pieces.

Yao knew immediately he would not be throwing this one out.

So he sat back down on his "art stool", as he called it, and lifted the brush to the bottom right corner of the canvas. Carefully, he painted his Chinese signature there-in the same violet as the king of the heather field.

Satisfied, Yao began packing up his paints and brushes, ignoring the painting as it dried. When he was finished, he stared at the painting once more. The thought crossed his mind that this one might stand a chance in the art world, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He was done playing that game. He never won, anyway.

A strange urge came over him as his eyes took in his work, whispering instructions into his ear like he didn't already know what he was going to do. He grabbed the coat he had discarded on the couch earlier and pocketed his keys, moving straight back to the door. Of course, there was a chance the store he needed wouldn't even be open, but he knew he had to try.

The cold outside was even worse than before. Yao shivered violently, wishing he had thought to wear his gloves. But it was too late, and he was already well on his way to the shopping district of town. Yet again, his poor income denied him a luxury-transportation, this time.

With a smile, he thought, _'Maybe my painting will be done drying by the time I return.' _Then, _'I should probably think of a title...'_ There were obvious names for the work, of course, that anyone could think of if given a few minutes. But Yao didn't want one of those. That painting reflected his own bleeding heart, so he wanted it to have a title that fit such emotion.

Turning the corner, he saw just the shop he was looking for-blessedly still in business at such an hour. The door opened with a ring of the doorbell, hanging above like in some old fashioned movie. After wandering the aisles for a few minutes, he found what he wanted. Picking it up carefully, he set it down in the basket he'd gotten at the entrance. The store clerk seemed confused by his presence-it was almost midnight in early winter, after all-but didn't deny his purchase.

He then did something that surprised even him. He shrugged off his coat, laying it over the basket. The clerk said he could keep it for an extra five dollars, an offer which he had gratefully agreed to.

Wearing only a thin sweater and jeans, he walked out of the building.

The cold bit into him the moment he stepped outside, slicing through his not-really-winter-ready clothing like a dozen knives. He wanted to just run back into the store, but he knew he had to get back home,

_'Honestly, I'll be lucky if I don't get hypothermia by the end of this,' _he mentally grumbled, a frown cutting across his face. The freezing wind hit him hard, but he pushed on. It was about a half-mile walk to his apartment. _'I am so going to get frostbite...'_

His feet ached from the travel, his face burned from the wind, his body shook from the cold. But for some reason, he wouldn't take the coat from the basket. Yao didn't even know why, himself. He just felt like he had to do this. Like his own life depended on the safety of what he carried.

By the time he finally got back to his building, he was numb from the neck down. His face still hurt from being completely unprotected in the harsh weather. So at that moment, the door to the cheap apartment building looked like the gateway to Heaven in Yao's eyes. He dashed inside, energy renewed at the thought of warmth and shelter.

Not stopping to savor the newfound heat-though it was pure bliss-he dashed up the stairs to apartment 206, unlocking the door for the second time that day. The first thing he did was put his coat back on, for extra help warming back up, and then he removed his precious cargo from the basket. Gingerly, he set it back down on the windowsill next to his latest painting, before backing up to gaze upon it properly.

In the dead of night, in early winter, Yao Wang walked a full mile out in the biting wind and bitter cold to buy a single potted plant. Violet heather, not yet in bloom.

* * *

_Hey, it's me again! Sorry for the shortness of these chapters, I'm kinda bad at writing them long. _

_So here we have Yao, the struggling artist, venting his frustrations on the canvas. Which, oddly enough, de-stressed me at the same time. __I like writing Yao this way, since I can draw off of a lot of my own experiences with stress, and that makes me feel more connected to the story as a whole. And don't you dare tell me none of you haven't gotten really mad when you drop a little thing in the hallway. It happens, people. It's called really stressful life + minor stressor = I'm done with this can you seriously just stop. Happens to me all the time, I'm sure it happens to you. Don't lie._

_Anywho, I'm pretty sure you're noticing a theme by now. Google it if you're confused. Also, five points to whoever knows who/what the king of the heather field represents. An extra five points to whoever gets what the violet's all about. HINT: It's not rocket science._

_Also, Yao's apartment number has a mean__ing behind it. Look up China's history. It's in there somewhere._

_Ciao! I'll keep badgering Tem to update, don't you worry!_

~_K-the-Robin-Lord (AKA Temorali's little sis)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Ivan**

_"I'm no ocean, but no one knows all that lies beneath me." — Josh James Riebock_

For the next few days, Ivan found himself trying to spend as much time near the Chinese man from earlier. His natural curiosity got the better of him, and he knew it. There was something…_off_…about this Wang person, and Ivan felt obligated to find out exactly what it was. He considered himself nothing short of an expert when it came to reading other people, so the existence of someone who was an enigma disturbed him.

However, despite his efforts, Ivan was unable to discern much about the Chinaman. It was vexing, to say the least, but it was also becoming a little interesting. It was a challenge, and Ivan felt a stirring in his very being, a spark of fire flickering to life despite having been smothered. It was tiny, still, but it was there. There was something there. _Actually there._

Ivan looked up to the gray sky above him from his park bench. This particular bench in this particular park was his favorite place in all the world, where he could think and be by himself. It didn't matter what time of year it was or what the weather was like, he'd always make the trip when he needed. A vicious gust of cold air struck against him and whipped his hair madly about his face, but the Russian didn't seem to notice. Violet eyes stared up at lonely skies, and somehow, he found the corner of his mouth barely twitching into a poorly executed one-sided smile as he released an almost inaudible sigh. Really, what was with him lately? In just less than a week he's become completely absorbed in the life of a man he just met, a man whose life he knew nothing of. It didn't matter where he was, or what he was doing- everywhere Ivan went, thoughts of the curious little Wang plagued him. It was rather odd, and just thinking about it left the Russian feeling drained. Ivan allowed his eyes to slowly close as he let his head rest upon his own shoulder, then felt himself drift to sleep despite the freezing wind.

…

"Mister?"

Ivan awoke not an hour later to a tugging on his coat sleeve. His eyes fell lazily upon a small girl with pigtails and bright green eyes. Her tiny hands gripped his arm, and for a moment he couldn't help but acknowledge how delicate she looked. It had been a long time, a very long time, since he had talked to a child. Not since he was one himself, probably.

Noticing she had the giant's attention, the little girl smiled and bounced a little. "Yay, you're alive! You looked dead, Mister, but you weren't really dead, right?"

Ivan chuckled a little and resituated himself, leaning forward so their faces were closer and they could hear each other over the wind. He gave one of his small smiles, which were usually frightening (or so he'd been told). But this time, there was a certain softness in his eyes that set the child quickly at ease. "No, little one, I was just sleeping."

The little girl tilted her head to the side and put on an adorable pout. "But, people don't sleep outside in the winter, right? Won't you get sick?"

Ivan's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he shook his head. "I'm used to the cold, so I won't get sick."

The little girl was obviously confused. She blinked her pretty green eyes a few times, before sitting on the bench beside him. She kicked her feet back and forth as she craned her neck to look up at the Russian's face. "My mommy and daddy always tell me not to stay outside too long, or else I'll feel icky. Do you feel icky? Where are your mommy and daddy? Are they going to get mad at you for being outside?"

Ivan realized that he could not give any answers to these questions, that his smile would fail if he tried, so he simply settled for asking a question of his own. "Where are _your_ parents, little one?"

The girl hummed in thought, her legs still kicking. "They're waiting for me at the car. I was supposed to go home, but I had to make sure you weren't dead first." She fixed Ivan with a wide-eyed gaze that gave off a hint that she still somehow doubted that he was, in fact, alive.

"Well," Ivan began, taking the child's tiny hand in his gently, "you should get back to your family, да? Here, let me walk you there."

The little girl giggled as she grasped the much larger hand and led him to a small blue car parked on the side of the road. Two adults- her parents, most likely- were looking around worriedly. When the mother caught sight of her daughter, she ran, and Ivan let go of the child's hand as she ran to meet her. The parents fussed over their girl, scolding her for walking off like that, to not do it again, but explained that they were worried when she had disappeared. Ivan watched the scene unfold with a guarded expression. Something akin to sadness pricked at his heart, but he forcefully pushed it away.

The mother stood up, seeming to just now have noticed the Russian standing some ways away. She set him a thankful look, and then turned away with her daughter and husband in tow, getting in the car and finally leaving. Ivan watched the car as it faded away into the distance until there was no sight of the blue vehicle left. When Ivan finally moved, it was to pull out his phone and look at the time. 6:09. It was getting late, and he still had a ways to walk to get home. With a resigned sigh, he began walking, head hunched between his shoulders and his scarf billowing out into the wind behind him.

…

Ivan nearly dashed to his front door and hurried inside, slamming it shut. There was no rush of warmth to greet him (he _really_ needed to remember to get that stupid heater fixed) but there was, at the very least, no wind to bite at his flesh. He didn't bother to remove anything but his boots before making his way to his kitchen to scrounge up a meal, rubbing his gloved hands together quickly to warm them up. He went to the nearest cabinet and opened it, only to frown when he saw nothing edible within. He checked cabinet after cabinet only to find the same result in each one, so with a frustrated huff Ivan realized he'd have to call in dinner tonight.

After little thought, he ended up ordering Chinese.

* * *

_Alright, I'm very sorry for being late with updating again! I got stuck writing this chapter, but I just started over and it turned out okay. I think._

_I promise Ivan and Yao will start interacting soon, but these last two chapters have been necessary for character development. And everything about Ivan's family will be explained in due time, don't worry!_

_I hope everyone who read enjoys!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Yao**

"_It may be unfair, but what happens in a few days, sometimes even a single day, can change the course of a whole lifetime..."  
― Khaled Hosseini_

It had been almost a week since Yao had gone out and bought that heather plant and his cold from then had yet to subside.

He'd also noticed that he seemed to be an object of interest for a certain violet eyed giant.

The strange man had been staring at him almost nonstop since they'd met, for no apparent reason other than some weird interest. Yao was actually becoming concerned he had a stalker issue on his hands. On the other hand, he found the giant rather interesting himself, though he wasn't sure he wanted to talk to the giant man-he really was terrifying!

Still, there was something about the stranger...Yao felt he at least had to learn why he kept staring at him. But he wasn't that good with confrontation after... No. He wouldn't think of that. That was behind him now. He had moved on.

But that didn't change his reluctance to confront the stranger.

He headed to his job with tired feet. He sniffed loudly. "Why did I have to buy that plant-aru?" he complained to himself. "Why didn't I wait until morning? Better yet, why didn't I wait until summer?"

Upon arriving at the restaurant, Yao pushed open the doors and walked inside.

His boss approached him when he entered. "Ah, Wang. You're on delivery today," he instructed, before heading back to the kitchens to talk to the chefs. Yao sighed. He'd been on delivery since he got sick-which made sense; who would want an ill cook?-and it had been much more boring than cooking, though even that got dull. At least he had the delivery van, so he wouldn't be on his feet.

There weren't even any orders at first-their restaurant wasn't that popular. Yao just had to sit there, bored out of his mind, and try not to fall asleep. But finally, after what felt like forever, he got one order to be delivered.

He took the package from the cook, who handed him the address. It didn't take long to reach the delivery van, and from there it was hardly ten minutes until he reached the address.

It was a small house, with no ornamentation. Likely owned by someone who didn't care much for appearances and had barely enough money to afford anything more than an apartment. But that was still more than Yao had. He stepped up to the door, and then pushed the button for the doorbell. It was a basic, unchanging sound. Almost solemn.

When he heard the footsteps approaching from the house, he did not expect who came to greet him.

The violet eyed man opened the door and they both stared at each other in shock. The giant was the first to speak.

"Wang, is it? It is quite a coincidence seeing you here!" he said with a sinister-looking smile. Yao swallowed nervously, and then held out the package.

"I'm here to deliver," he stated when he found his voice. "You _did _order Chinese not too long ago, didn't you-aru?"

"да," he replied, towering over the shorter Asian. "Business must be slow at your place if you deliver so quickly."

"Tell me about it-aru," Yao huffed. "So that will be $10.50," he held out the package again, "I'd prefer to take cash, if you don't mind-aru."

"Not at all!" The half-stranger pulled out his wallet, taking out a ten dollar bill and two quarters. "Here you go, with exact change." He handed the money to Yao, who gave him his order.

"I'll be going then," he said, turning to leave.

"Are you sure you would not like to stay for a little?" the violet eyed giant suggested. "You must be cold."

While Yao couldn't deny he was freezing-which did nothing to relieve him of his cold-he had a job to (hopefully) do and he didn't really want to have to sit down with the man who was basically stalking him. But the prospect of warmth was very tempting...

Before he could control himself, he was already walking inside the small house.

"I could stay for a minute or two-aru. Thank you," Yao answered him when he entered. The giant's home wasn't very warm, and he was starting to consider leaving. But then the strange man flashed him another smile, and shoved a blanket in his face.

Sold.

At a gesture from the half-stranger, Yao sat down on the couch and huddled up in the blanket, savoring every bit of warmth it gave him. The man sat down opposite of him, then instead of eating what he had been brought, he spoke.

"So, Wang," he started. "You are Chinese, да?"

"Shí de," Yao answered immediately, then blushed as he realized his mistake. "Sorry-aru. I meant yes. I was born in China, and I haven't completely switched over to English yet."

Strangely, the other nodded. "да, I have similar problems. I am from Russia, you see."

Yao watched him warily. Why was this man talking to him so much? Why did he invite a half-stranger into his own home?

Still, Yao felt compelled to ask, "What is your name-aru? I didn't catch it earlier."

"Oh!" the Russian smacked his palm lightly against his head. "I forgot. I am Ivan Braginski. You may call me Ivan."

"Well then, Ivan," Yao pulled the blanket closer about him, "I think we should be formally introduced-aru. I am Wang Yao-er, that is...Yao Wang-aru. That is how Europeans and Americans order it, I think." The Asian plastered on a smile of his own. "It is nice to meet you."

"And you, Yao," Ivan mimicked the gesture. "I have seen you draw before, да? Do you enjoy drawing?"

Yao stiffened. This man was getting-though unintentionally, he was sure-very personal. In an attempt to brush off the question, he answered, "I draw often-aru. It is my college major."

Then, he changed the subject. "So-aru...what is it you wish to do? What kind of job?"

The Russian leaned back in his chair. "I don't know, actually. I've never had much ambition. My older sister always said that was a problem of mine-I never knew what I wanted to do with my life."

"Oh."

"But it isn't an issue!" Ivan waved his hand dismissively. "I am content as I am."

"That is good-aru," Yao nodded. "That you are content, I mean."

The Asian glanced at his watch. "Sorry-aru! I have to run, my boss is probably wondering where I am!" He stood, removing the blanket from his shoulders reluctantly. "I'll see you tomorrow-aru!"

Opening the door, he was assaulted by the biting wind, but he pushed through anyway. He couldn't afford to be late, or he might get his skimped on his pay. Which would highly unfortunate, considering he was already poor.

"Goodbye, Yao!" he hear Ivan say when he was already outside. "It was nice talking to you!"

Yao didn't reply, instead climbing into the delivery van and driving off. Once on the road, he took the time to think about strange Ivan Braginski. The Russian giant seemed friendly, but was very scary at the same time. His interest in the man only grew-Ivan was very mysterious and obviously had quite a few secrets-and he thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to get to know him. Even if he was a sort of stalker.

The Chinese man's half-formed smile fell, however, when he remembered his brothers and sisters. They had pretended to like him, to look up to him, even on occasion to respect him. But they had been liars. All of them.

Ivan Braginski was probably no different.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Ivan**

"_I was lonely. I felt it deeply and permanently, that this state of being on my own might never disappear. But I welcomed the loneliness." ―__ Rachel Sontag__,__House Rules_

"That is good-aru," Yao nodded. "That you are content, I mean."

Ivan wasn't sure exactly how to respond to that, because he _wasn't_ content, no matter how often he told himself he was. Then again, having the little Chinaman show up at his doorstep was more than he'd expected from such a dreary day, and he certainly didn't want to scare him off with his whole life story. And seeing the brown-haired man on _his_ couch, in _his_ living room, right in front of him, made Ivan content in his own right. He was just about to open his mouth to continue the conversation when the smaller man looked at his watch and jumped a little.

"Sorry-aru! I have to run, my boss is probably wondering where I am!"

Ivan felt a pang of disappointment as he watched his guest shrug off the blanket that had been draped over his small frame and headed towards the door. But when he added, "I'll see you tomorrow-aru!" Ivan couldn't help but smile.

He moved slowly towards his doorway and watched the Chinese man fight past the wind and get into his truck. At the last second, Ivan called out, "Goodbye, Yao! It was nice talking to you!"

He barely saw Yao Wang respond, and for the second time that day, Ivan found himself standing there, by himself, watching as a vehicle drove away and out of his sights. He didn't even notice the cold nipping at his fingers as he stood in his doorway for who knows how long. Eventually, he stepped back indoors, and latched the door with a soft 'click'. Ivan stared at the back of his door for a few moments before realizing with a start that his ordered meal was probably cold already. He grabbed the chopsticks and fumbled with them for a few seconds before settling on an awkward grip, but one that got the job done. It was hardly surprising to find that his dinner was relatively cold. However, there was the tiniest hint of warmth still trapped inside, and to that, Ivan smiled.

…

"Yao-Yao!"

Yao Wang spun around from his school locker and fixed Ivan with a mixed look of surprise, relief, and also a hint of fear. "Aiyaaah! D-Don't sneak up on people like that, Ivan! You scared me!"

Ivan tilted his head to the side slightly, closed his eyes, gave a little smile, and giggled. "Awww, I didn't mean to! But I saw Yao-Yao walking alone and I wanted to say hi!"

Yao replied with only a hard, unreadable stare.

One which made Ivan fidget uncomfortably. "So, uhm…привет?"

Yao sighed and shook his head, but Ivan thought he saw the corner of his mouth quirk up in what was probably supposed to be a smile. "Nín hǎo, Ivan."

Taking that as clearance to continue, Ivan moved beside Yao as he walked through the hallway, probably on the way to his next class. "So, Yao, I did not know you worked at a restaurant."

Yao's expression shifted just the tiniest bit. "I do-aru."

"Do you enjoy it?"

The Chinaman seemed to contemplate the idea, and made a quiet "mmmmh," sound as he thought it over. Eventually he just shrugged. "It isn't so bad. Although I'm not normally the delivery man-aru. I'm one of the cooks there."

Ivan blinked and tilted his head curiously. "Is that so? But you were the delivery man yesterday, да? Why is that?"

Yao scrunched up his nose in distaste and stifled a cough. "Because I'm sick. I can't handle the food if I'm sick-aru."

Ivan was just about to respond when Yao stopped walking. The Russian man turned around to see Yao hesitating near a doorway, watching him with that frustratingly unreadable expression. His body language gave away that he was nervous, however, and Ivan gave him a curious look.

"This is my next classroom-aru. I've, ah…got to take my seat."

Ivan wasn't entirely sure why he felt sad at that moment, and his mind rewound to yesterday as he had watched as Yao drove away in that Chinese delivery truck. This was kind of the same thing, but it was silly, wasn't it? So Ivan forced a goofy smile onto his face and held up a hand in a motionless wave. "да, sure. I'll see you later then, Yao-Yao!" And he walked away, and it was as simple as that.

…

Ivan went the rest of the day without seeing the Chinese man again, and while that disappointed him a little, he was quick to remind himself that this Yao was practically a total stranger to him and he shouldn't be so concerned with getting that close to him. After all, he was human- and to this day, not a single human being had interacted with him without wanting something for themselves. Then again, Ivan had been the one instigating any and all conversation, but…still.

The Russian made a quick stop at the grocery store to restock on cheap food and vodka (he could hardly believe he had allowed himself to run out of his precious drink) and paid the total from his meager wallet. He had almost considered "forgetting" to buy food so he could order Chinese again to see Yao, but that probably wouldn't go over well with the little Asian, and Ivan didn't want to make him uncomfortable. After all, Ivan recognized that he was a very off-putting guy- many of the tiniest things he did, other people found scary or unnerving. Ivan had never really understood, but he used it when necessary. Now, however, part of him wished he could stop. He wished he wasn't scary…

…But then, he blamed his inherent scariness on a creepy younger sister, a tear-fountain of an older sister, and the two adults he just so happened to call his parents.

And the people in his community.

And the people in this world. Them too.

Ivan stepped outside with his grocery bags wrapped around his arms and instantly shuddered and hid as far as he could into his scarf. The air was frigid, far colder than it had been the rest of the week. With a hurried pace born from desperation, Ivan ran home. When he got to the door, he burst inside, threw his morsels of food into their respective cabinets, then plopped down on the couch and wrapped himself in the nearest blanket. With a start, he realized it was the same one that Yao had used yesterday, though he wasn't sure why the thought had his heartbeat speeding up. Eager to entertain his mind and get him away from these confusing feelings, he flipped on the TV to some random news channel, letting the dimly-lit screen and the pointless words drown him out of his thoughts. Eventually, the same TV lulled him to sleep, and Ivan lay on his couch, curled up in a beige scarf and a blanket that reminded him of Yao Wang.

* * *

_привет (phon. "privet") Russian: "Hi"_

_Nín hǎo (Chinese): "Hello"_

_да (phon. "da") Russian: yeah_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Yao**

_"Reality continues to ruin my life."  
― Bill Watterson_

Not really paying attention in class-as usual, sadly-Yao let his mind wander as he sketched. Strangely, his thoughts fell on Ivan. Again.

Yao had to forcefully remind himself that the Russian was basically a stranger, really imposing, and probably just talking to him out of pity. _'Although...he doesn't know me well at all. Maybe he's just curious?' _Yao's pencil stopped moving as he pondered this. Then, he shook his head. Whether or not that man knew him wasn't the issue. Yao knew he was a generally pitiful person, and he was also so pathetically uninteresting there was no reason for anyone to really want to get to know him better unless they were forced to live with him.

Dismissing these thoughts, Yao returned to his sketching, working on it until the end of class.

...

Back at his apartment, Yao sank back in his torn old chair to stare at his stress-art from not so long ago. It hung somewhat dismally on the wall, the field king looking down on him with nonexistent eyes. The piece remained untitled.

For every night since he painted it, Yao had gone through the same routine. Get home-late-eat a small dinner-if he ate at all-sit down, and think. He'd dwell on that painting's title for hours, until he finally looked at the time and went to sleep.

This night was slightly different in a big way.

He'd just been standing to check on his heather plant when he heard a knock on his apartment door. _No one _came to his apartment.

Yao stood, then cracked open his door.

He most certainly did _not _expect to see _him_ standing outside it.

"Wh-what are you doing here-aru?" Yao asked, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

The other frowned, then shrugged. "I wanted to see how you were doing." He said it, in his heavily accented voice, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Yao's hands-and heart-clenched involuntarily.

"You never visit-aru...so...why now?" he struggled to find words in his shock.

"I have not seen you in years, Yao. Not since you moved away."

"But...that-that was in China-and you went to-but this is America...aru..." Yao trailed off, his rambling energy defeated by the complete realization that _he _was there, at his door, talking to him. In America.

The other nodded. "I moved to America recently, in a different state than you, though. Then I heard from Mei that you were here, and I thought I should visit you."

Yao gaped at him. "But you...you said..."

At this, he looked away, but answered, "Regardless, it just seemed right that I come visit you while I am in the country. But I am not here to apologize, if that is what you were expecting."

"Then go."

"_Nani?_"

"Just go-aru!" Yao snapped, losing control of his temper. "You said it yourself-you are not my little brother anymore! So there's no reason for you to be here! We are not family!"

He seemed appalled, but maintained his even tone of voice. "I thought you would appreciate this. I guess I was wrong."

"Shí de, you _were-aru! _You don't know what I went through since that day! You don't know the complete _hell _that had been my life since we last saw each other! And now-now you have the nerve to come to _my _home and _pretend _you actually wanted to see me when we both know you don't and then you say-to my face-that you still, in essence, hate me-aru! Why did you even come then, _Kiku?!_" Yao shouted, spitting out the name like poison.

Kiku stayed calm, somehow, and replied, "Mei and the others told me it would be for the best."

"_Well they were wrong._" Yao slammed the door in his face, not giving him a chance to reply, and slumped tiredly against the door. He hadn't seen Kiku in years, and still he felt the pain with perfect clarity.

Then Yao found he couldn't hold it in anymore.

A single tear fell from each of his closed eyes. Followed by another. And another. Before long, there was no way to control it, no way to stop the waterfall of tears streaming down his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried at all. Somewhere along the line, he'd just given up crying. He'd realized it was pointless, and it wouldn't bring back all that he had lost. It couldn't make him more than he was meant to be.

So what was the point?

His shoulders trembled violently as a choked sob forced its way from his throat. He hugged his knees to his chest, burying his tear-streaked face in his arms.

Yes, what was the point?

It was the same thing every day, the same repeated routine. He got up, went to school, went to work, came home, went to sleep, repeat. Repeat. Repeat. _Repeat. _Always repeating, the cycle changing only a little each day, and each change only there to cause him more pain. What was the point of it all? What was the point of living?

It wasn't like he was going to kill himself or anything-he knew he could never bring himself to do that-but a voice in his head was always whispering, "Why do you even bother going on?" There was no purpose to his existence at all, he only served to take up space in the world. So why keep replaying the same old scene? Why keep going through the motions, pretending not to be dead when that's all he really was? Why not just give up, just stop trying? Why not just sit down and wait for Death to walk by and take him away? Why not just die so he could finally be alive?

But no, he could never do such a thing to himself. He was a coward, and he knew it.

Before Yao even realized it, tears were no longer falling from his eyes and the grief in his heart was replaced by a red hot anger that boiled in the pit of his stomach and reached up with burning claws to constrict his heart and lungs until he couldn't breathe, couldn't feel.

How dare his brother come back after everything without so much as an apology?

How dare he remind Yao of everything he was not and could never be?

Yap stood and walked in furious silence to his windowsill, glaring down at his still-dead heather with an unimaginably deep feeling of loathing and betrayal that even he did not understand. Still, he took the plant in his hand, holding it so tightly it looked as though the pot might break. Yao seriously debated opening his window and just throwing the hideous, traitorous thing out of his apartment to be rid of it forever.

But then he felt a superior presence just outside his range of vision. He turned his gaze up and to the left, his dark eyes landing on the violet king of the heather field, whose undefined face remained silent and impassive, looking down at him from his place on the wall.

Yao sighed, his anger deflated at the sight of that condescending form. He returned the plant to its place, then fell to his knees on the apartment floor.

For years, he hadn't felt such real emotions as he had today. All he'd known for so long was minor frustration, minor sorrow. Nothing like what had just occurred.

He'd just felt pure, strong, all-consuming emotion. That was supposed to be good. It was supposed to prove something-what, that he was human?-or show him something or...or..._something_.

So why was it that all it did was hurt?

...

Yao awoke in the morning sprawled out across the floor and still wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before.

He sat upright, wincing at the crick in his back he'd obviously gotten from sleeping on the floor-why had he done that again?-and the burning of his throat that he was certain had to do with his cold.

A wonderful start to the day.

The cobwebs in his mind slowly clearing away, he stood, making his way to the pathetically small corner he called a kitchen and removing a water bottle from his miniature fridge. The fresh, cold liquid soothed his throat as he gulped it down. He held back a cough, knowing it would bring the pain back immediately.

Then, slowly, he remembered the night before, a scowl forming on his face as he recalled the meeting he'd had with his brother-no, just Kiku. That man was not his brother anymore. He'd said so himself.

Yao had been so exhausted once he'd finally calmed down, he had just fallen asleep where he lay. It didn't matter much, anyway. Except...

As an afterthought, he glanced down at his watch, which remained fastened on his wrist from the day before. 9:32 a.m.

"Aiyah!" he shouted in a mix of shock, exasperation, and maybe even a little fear. "I am so _beyond _late-aru!" Classes had definitely started already.

He dashed to his room, leaving his water unfinished on the kitchen counter. After throwing on a new outfit and trying in vain to brush his dark brown hair-the hairbrush was constantly catching painfully on the many tangles there-and not even bothering to tie it back in his usual ponytail, he paused only to grab his phone (not that anyone would contact him), keys, and school bag before rushing out his apartment door and down the stairs. Having not had time to button his jacket, the early winter cold cut through him like a knife.

He ran for as long as he could, but not being in very good shape, he had to stop several times to catch his breath or rest his tired legs. Eventually, he settled for speed walking-though even then the rather prominent stitch in his side was giving him grief-and after what was probably an hour he reached the college building. Yao looked back down at his watch-10:36-and was surprised to find he had been right about it being an hour. He racked his brain-what class was that again?-and eventually came up with English. Just what he needed-facing Ivan right away after meeting up with the man who had pretty much ruined his personal life, remembering how pointless his existence was, and sleeping on the floor of his apartment.

Still, he sprinted the rest of the way, bumping into countless other people as he ran-and earning more than a few curses and angry remarks-before throwing open the classroom door, panting heavily.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm late..."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Ivan**

"_I think I fell in love with him, a little bit. Isn't that dumb? But it was like I knew him. Like he was my oldest, dearest friend…I wanted him to notice me." ― __Neil Gaiman__, __The Sandman, Vol. 8: Worlds' End_

Ivan tapped the eraser of his pencil impatiently as he thought.

Yao was currently absent from English class. Something about that was bothering him, but as with all his emotions lately, he couldn't determine _why_. All he knew was that he was growing increasingly anxious, that his foot was now beginning to tap in rhythm with his pencil, that he was nearing the point where he might just up and leave the classroom right then and there. It's not like he was paying attention anyway- he knew the subject material, and Yao was a much more pressing matter for whatever reason. Yet, just as he was about to act on that last idea, the thunderous sound of footsteps echoed through the hall and the classroom door flew open with a loud smash.

And then suddenly, there stood Yao, panting and untidy and muttering quick apologies to the instructor before being waved to his seat with a frustrated flick of the wrist. It struck Ivan that Yao hadn't tied his hair in a ponytail today as the Russian giant watched the Chinese man step closer to his side. Instead, the dark brown locks swept over his shoulders gracefully, somehow, despite the tangles that hadn't been worked out. He looked pretty tired, with bags under his eyes and an overall unkempt appearance, but what Ivan really noticed was the look in his normally quiet gaze. There was a certain coldness in Yao's dark eyes that tried to avoid looking at Ivan. Instantly Ivan knew something had happened between the time he saw the Chinese man yesterday and the previous moment when he walked through the door. Yao's expression was tired, exhausted, but strongly guarded.

It wasn't right.

"привет, Yao." Ivan greeted, watching for any reaction on Yao's part. The Chinese man fought not to meet Ivan's face, instead walking past the seated giant and taking his seat to his left. He tersely removed any materials he needed for class and arranged them out in front of him, not making any move to show he had heard the Russian speak. Ivan felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance. Regardless, he smiled and passed some notes over to the smaller man's desk.

"Here, you can borrow my notes. I wasn't using them anyway, and you need to catch up, да?" Once again, Ivan was promptly ignored, the notes left untouched. Ivan narrowed his eyes at this, but sat back in his chair, and gave Yao what he seemed to want. Until class ended.

As soon as the bell went off, Yao was out of his seat and headed for the door. Ivan followed suit, trailing Yao until they were safely out of the classroom. He reached out and grabbed Yao's sleeve and tugged. Yao halted, then turned around and glared at Ivan through tired eyes.

"What do you want, Ivan."

It wasn't so much a question as it was an accusation. Unfazed, Ivan grinned and started walking in a different direction, his grip on Yao's arm all but forcing the other to follow. Before Yao could protest, Ivan spoke. "Come on, Yao-Yao! Let's play hooky for today. School is boring anyway." Ivan didn't look back as he walked. "And besides, you seem to need a day off. So, play hooky with me!"

Yao sputtered, trying to argue and accuse and ask questions all at the same time. Once he seemed to realize Ivan wasn't going to let him get away, however, he simply yanked his arm back, shoved both hands in his pockets, and followed the larger man's footsteps broodily.

The weather outside was no more pleasant than it had been the day before. Yao sniffled as if to remind Ivan that he was still suffering from a cold, to which Ivan looked over his shoulder and stopped. Ivan's violet eyes traveled the length of Yao's hunched form for a minute before he shrugged off his beige coat, leaving him in a simple t-shirt and jeans, and passed it to Yao. The surprised Asian stared at it, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

"Here, Yao. So your cold doesn't get worse."

Yao regarded Ivan with a look of suspicion, but an oncoming gust of wind quickly made up his mind. He took the coat with a sour expression and stuck his arms through the sleeves, stopping only when he realized his arms didn't quite reach the end. Ivan giggled, and Yao shot him another glare before wrapping himself up in the coat for the warmth he desperately needed.

"Well? Where are we planning on going, Ivan?" Yao's voice dripped with acid, but Ivan once again paid no heed. He was good at that.

"Well, I was thinking we could get something to eat! I hear going out for coffee is a popular American thing to do, but if you'd rather have tea, I know this really good place."

Yao simply shrugged, trying not to make eye contact. "Fine. Whatever. Just get me out of the cold already-aru."

Ivan hummed in agreement and walked down the street with Yao in tow, for once not caring much about the cold that bit at his bare arms.

…

The herbal tea shop was a tiny little place with few customers at this time of day. Ivan didn't know it very well, seeing as tea wasn't a common drink for him, but Yao's face involuntarily lit up upon seeing the advertised teas on the sign outside. Ivan smiled, happy that he got a positive response out of his companion. That, and he looked just too adorable, wearing Ivan's coat. It practically dragged on the ground, and Yao had tripped over it more than once on their walk, but he had never made a move to take it off. Ivan figured it was only because it was freezing out and Yao really didn't fancy getting frostbite, but the sight still warmed Ivan. Realizing what he was thinking, he felt himself blush and he turned to hide his face by opening the door. A quaint little bell rung from above him, and he held the door for Yao to pass through. The smaller man did so, and Ivan watched as he paused, welcoming the warmth as it rushed back into his bones. Ivan stepped inside and closed the door, breathing in the relaxing air. Almost instantly, his coat was shoved back into his hands, Yao's previous disgruntled expression back in place.

"I don't need it, Yao. You can keep wearing it for now, if you'd like," Ivan offered, silently hoping Yao would take him up on it.

He didn't. "No. I don't need it anymore-aru. I'm not wearing it."

Slightly disappointed, Ivan took the coat out of Yao's outstretched hand, then slipped it on over his arms and wrapped it up again. Yao walked over to the counter and ordered some Chinese tea, then sat down at a nearby table with his drink without waiting for Ivan in the least. Ivan didn't know what he should have, so he simply ordered what Yao had before sitting down across from him.

"Isn't this a nice place, Yao?"

Yao looked unamused. "I guess."

Ivan sipped at his tea. It wasn't particularly great, but it was relaxing, so he didn't complain. The two sat in tense silence before Ivan spoke up.

"Are you okay, Yao?"

Yao flinched. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Because you are upset. Did something happen last night?"

Yao didn't respond for a while, simply gazing into his tea. Finally, he choked out, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ivan watched Yao's face as he talked. It was obvious he was lying. Every little gesture, his words, his demeanor, his inability to make eye contact…something inside Ivan cracked. "Why are you lying to me, Yao? We're friends, да?"

At the word "friends", both men froze. Yao stared, wide eyed, at the Russian man who started fidgeting uncomfortably. What had he meant, _friends?_ People weren't worth befriending. They never did anything more than stab you in the back. Ivan shifted in his seat. He wanted to run, to say that he didn't mean that, that he was joking around and said whatever came out of his mouth. But all those options felt wrong somehow, so he simply sat there, awaiting Yao's response.

Yao's eyes eventually slid back to his tea, expression unreadable. Hesitantly, he asked, "Really?"

_No, no, we aren't friends, I've never had a friend, I never want a friend, people are horrible, they'll hurt me, you will too, I just know it_ – "Yes."

Yao's expression didn't change as he mused. After what seemed like an agonizing forever, Yao looked up, his emotions guarded. "Maybe I'll explain another time, Ivan. But I can't right now. Do you understand?"

Some part of Ivan did. He nodded.

Yao stood quietly, leaving an empty teacup sitting alone on the table. He looked at Ivan one more time before he turned his back. "Thanks-aru. The tea was good."

Ivan didn't know what to say. "You're welcome. Yao, you think we can do this again sometime?"

"We'll see." And those were the only words he gave before he left the café, Ivan, and an empty cup of tea.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Yao**

_"I don't want to see anyone. I lie in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and nothingness washing over me like a sluggish wave. Whatever is happening to me is my own fault. I have done something wrong, something so huge I can't even see it, something that's drowning me." ― Margaret Atwood, Cat's Eye_

"We're friends, да?"

Those words, spoken by Ivan Braginski, rang through Yao's mind as he trekked back to his apartment. As if it wasn't enough he'd been late, Ivan had forced him to skip school-which he'd only just managed to wake up in time for-so he figured he might as well just head back home.

Rather, he didn't think he could return to school at the moment.

Friends... Yao had never really had friends. Sure, there had been his childhood playmates-everyone had those, as they weren't real friendships-but he'd never had true _friends. _Then again, Ivan had probably not meant the word as such. No one ever did, when it came to Yao.

The cold bit into him yet again, and Yao shivered profusely. He really needed to buy a thicker coat... Somewhat jealously, he remembered Ivan's coat-it had been blissfully warm, if twenty-something sizes too big for his small frame. Ivan had nice things, despite his house being tiny and sadly lacking in heating. But at least he owned a house. Yao could never afford anything like that. He poured everything he had into college and what little he had left went to food, paying his rent, and art supplies.

The thought of Ivan, of course, brought those words back to him.

_...friends..._

Yao shook his head, focusing on the return trip.

_...but I am not here to apologize, if that is what you were expecting..._

His heart ached as he remembered the visit he'd gotten from his not-brother. In all the confusion, he'd almost forgotten, but the words came back like knives to his soul.

_We are not brothers._

That was what Kiku had told him when he'd moved to Japan. It had all been out of spite, Yao knew. Kiku had always hated him.

_I don't want to see you again, Yao._

Then why had he come back? He'd said something about Mei. But why did it matter? The fact was, Kiku had come. He'd come and torn Yao's already wounded heart in two yet again.

Yao looked up to the sky, stopping in his walk. The few people on the street with him kept going, casting him strange looks or otherwise ignoring his presence completely. _'Why does it hurt so much?' _he asked the sky silently, slumping against a nearby building.

_Because you deserve no less._

The voice spoke in his head, similar to Kiku's. Of course Yao deserved the pain. He was a failure, a nobody, a nothing. He'd never done anything right and never would. He was worthless. But...

_We are friends, да?_

Ivan had not thought so. Ivan had been worried about him.

_Really?_

Ivan had been there. Ivan had wanted to know what was bothering him.

_Yes._

Yao's heart throbbed painfully in his chest as he stared up at the white, white sky. Had Ivan really meant what he'd said? Had Ivan really thought him a friend?

Shaking his head sadly, Yao reminded himself that Ivan didn't know him. Even if the violet eyed man had meant those words, he hadn't known who he was saying them to.

But if he had, what then?

Yao straightened up, his throat burning again from sickness, and resumed his walk. His life certainly hasn't improved at all in the recent weeks-to be expected-and had only become more complicated. He'd have loved to confide in Ivan, to tell him anything and everything and nothing all at once. To be allowed to fall down and have someone there to catch him (because he definitely fell down a lot, with only his own hands to push him back up). Back in that tea shop, he'd wanted nothing more than to break down and cry and tear his heart out of his chest for all the world to see-and have Ivan there to help him through it all.

Yao wasn't sure why he wanted to trust Ivan so much, wasn't sure why-if anyone-he wished it be the Russian giant by his side, but he knew he did.

And that was just the problem.

Knowing you want something, knowing it's important to you, makes it all the more unbearable not having it. Once Ivan knew him-really knew him, not just the little things Yao had told him or he'd figured out on his own-there was no way he'd want to stay.

Yao wasn't anywhere near perfect. Or even decent. Or even less than desired. He was broken, ruined, long past expired.

Who wanted a pair of dark, dead, broken eyes when they had such a large crowd to find another, better, brighter pair in?

That's when Yao realized something.

His train of thought had quickly gotten much more singular, strangely so. He'd never thought that way before. He'd always just been the "in a crowd but completely ignored by the groups" person, never "one choice of many". Why had he narrowed the options down to just him or someone else?

The answer was simple, but struck him with such force that made him feel like he'd been hit head on by a car. Or bus. No, more likely a train. He felt like he had gotten ran over by a bullet train going at full speed and aimed directly at him.

Yao stumbled as the full realization of the matter presented itself with perfect clarity. The Asian quickly caught himself and kept moving-faster this time-towards his apartment. He tried his best to ignore the thoughts swirling in his head, as well as the vicious beating of his heart.

This was wrong.

This was more than wrong.

There was no way. It had to be a lie.

He had to stop this before it went too far.

It was probably too late already. He knew that.

He couldn't face Ivan again. He had to cut himself off from the man immediately so the feeling would go away.

Yao didn't even realize he had reached his apartment building until he was dashing up the stairs to the second floor. Then he was unlocking the door to apartment 206. Shutting the door. Falling to the ground yet again in front of the all-knowing King of Heather.

"Why is this happening?" he choked out in a plea (confession) to the ever-still painting. No response. "Why can't I just live? Live the right way, even if I'm useless. Why do I have to do this to myself?"

No response.

"Why..."

He didn't cry. He was done crying.

"Why..."

It wouldn't have taken away the pain anyway.

"Why..."

He bowed his head to the violet man, his own creation, his long dark hair falling listlessly around his shoulders and in front of his face.

There was so much wrong in the throbbing of his heart. So much wrong in the heat of his face. So much wrong in that horrible emotion he refused to name.

Still the king of the heather fields was motionless, and said nothing to answer Yao. Looking up, the Asian thought he recognized the violet color from somewhere.

But that was probably his imagination.

Right?

...

The next day was, blessedly, Saturday.

Yao didn't even bother getting dressed or brushing through his still-tangled hair. Lethargy was settling in, making itself at home with the guilt and that other emotion Yao had decided to leave untitled, like a painting he either could not name or refused to name out of confusion and spite.

When his dark eyes cracked open that morning, it was only after a sleepless night.

When he got up and ate breakfast, it was only to stay "alive". He didn't really have an appetite, anyway.

When he leaned back in his ratty old armchair and stared up at his painting, pretending to search for a title, it was only to have an excuse to do nothing.

He'd given up, that was all there was to it.

Come Monday, he'd go back to school but not pay attention. He'd spare only a little effort to do his work. He'd refuse to look Ivan in the face.

Oh God, just the thought of that man... He shook his head violently, clearing his head of the thoughts before they even began. This would be much harder than he thought.

Yao glanced at his heather plant, wondering for the umpteenth time why he'd bought it in the first place. It wasn't a special plant, and he'd purchased it _way _before it should have been purchased, but he'd done so anyway. Why?

This train of thought wasn't enough, apparently, as his thoughts clicked yet again back onto Ivan Braginski. Would he hurt the violet eyed man by pushing him away? Maybe. Did Ivan need someone like him in his life? No. So it was all justified, right?

Silence.

His mind could not find an answer, though a voice in his head desperately screamed "yes".

_Yes, _it said. _This is all for the best! There's nothing to be guilty for! You're not meant to-_

He cut the voice off there, shaking. One more word and it would've been over.

Yao couldn't take it anymore, the quiet of the apartment room. He quickly turned on the TV to his one of his only free channels, the news. He let the voice of the fake-looking reporter drown out his thoughts, letting it take over for him.

He couldn't really focus on the television, but that didn't matter. All that was important was _not _thinking about...

The woman was saying something about shopping taxes. Yao turned up the volume.

* * *

_Hey, it's me again! Just wanted to say that I'm REALLY sorry if any of you think this is moving too fast. I was really hesitant to post this chapter, since you know, they just confirmed they were friends. But TemTem said it was good, so I went ahead with it anyway. :P_

_In any case, I've really been struggling not to turn this into a Lord-of-the-Flies-ish prose poem. THAT STUPID PAINTING ARRRGH! Like, seriously. But I'm managing, and it's turning out pretty well if I do say so myself._

_I promise to keep writing more! ~K-the-Robin-Lord_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Ivan**

"_I don't trust anybody. Not anybody. And the more that I care about someone, the more sure I am they're going to get tired of me and take off."  
― Rainbow Rowell, __Fangirl_

Ivan stared into that dead black screen as if it would give him the answers to everything he ever wondered.

When the Russian had gotten home that night, tired in a way he couldn't explain, he had done nothing but flop down in the middle of his beaten loveseat and proceed to stare at the television. He had been such a strong mix of tired and distracted to even notice the TV wasn't even powered on. Ivan hadn't moved from his position – staring deadly at a blank screen through half-lidded eyes while sitting lazily on the couch – in what was probably a ridiculous amount of time.

None of that registered in the man's mind.

All he could think about was what happened at the café. What had he meant, calling Yao a friend? Over the years, he had called many his _comrades_; but that was merely a status, if even that. The word _friend _brought to mind an entirely different image. He and Yao, walking side by side, laughing about something that wasn't even funny. Yao, talking to him with a smile on his face, as they ate or played games or did nothing but sit around, enjoying each other's company.

The word _friend_ was a word Ivan had never used toward anyone. Granted, there were those three kids he had known as a child, but one look at the Russian had them trembling in fear. They had never thought of Ivan as a friend. The first chance they had, they all moved away or had their parents transfer them to a different school, leaving ten-year-old Ivan standing alone, watching their cars drive away.

Those three were the only people Ivan had ever grown attached to, and look where that left him.

What about Yao Wang, then? As much as he tried to convince himself, Ivan couldn't bring himself to think of the Chinaman as he thought of everyone else in this community. So far, Yao seemed to be a person without friends, who continued living without interacting with other people. Of course, Ivan could be wrong – he didn't know who Yao really was, after all. He didn't know about his family, his job, his friends, his dreams…but _God, he wanted to_. At the realization, Ivan's brow furrowed, and he clenched his fists at his sides. Ivan could no longer think of Yao as being part of this world he had come to hate. To him, Yao was different, special. And the thought scared him.

_He's going to hurt me._

Yes, Yao would leave Ivan. He would stab him in the back for nothing but his own gain.

_Like those three did._

After all, Yao was simply human. And humans didn't do anything if it didn't benefit them in any way. Ivan knew this, he had learned this on that day twelve years ago, when Raivis' car drove away, officially leaving Ivan without anyone to call a friend.

_People will leave you without a second thought, Ivan. Your parents did, remember?_

Ivan growled at the voice in his head and brought his hands up to cover his ears, as if that could stop the onslaught of poisonous words. He remembered, of course he remembered, he'd never forget. How could he? It was another of those lessons life had been all too glad to brand him with.

_They never loved you. Do you remember, little Vanechka? _

"Stop…" Ivan mumbled weakly to himself.

_Once they found out what you were, they left you in the cold and fled back to Russia without you. They didn't want to deal with you anymore. _

"Stop!"

_Yao is exactly the same way. Once he knows what you really are, he'll turn and walk away, and you know what I'll say?_

Ivan cried out as his nails dug into the flesh behind his ears. He stood up abruptly and threw the cushions aside, snarling furiously like a starved wolf. His violet glare landed on the blank television in the front of his room, and with a look that could kill, he grabbed the nearest item – which just happened to be the TV's remote – and threw it at the little box. The screen cracked, and the remote fell apart, and Ivan was left there watching.

At least the voices fell silent. Ivan suddenly felt drained, and he fell to his knees and sat on them, staring at his broken television blankly. The dead black screen stared back. Ivan's heart felt like it was burning. Deep down, he knew he was already too attached to let go, that he'd remain broken forever if he tried. How was it he had smothered that fire within him long ago? How did he get the pain to go away? He couldn't remember.

It was late into the night when Ivan finally dragged himself to bed. There was no way he could give up on Yao now, even if he knew it was only going to end badly. He'd gone and made the same mistake as ten years ago, and he was too deeply invested to get away. So he'd give Yao a chance. And when he betrayed him, well…

When Ivan fell asleep that night, only four words echoed in his mind. They said, _I told you so._

* * *

Ivan walked into English class Monday morning like there was lead in his boots. He regarded everything not with his normal fake smile, but with narrowed eyes and a grimace, hidden beneath his beige scarf. He took his seat, taking barely a moment to acknowledge the fact Yao wasn't in the room. The Russian tersely sat himself and focused immediately on the sloppy handwriting on the whiteboard at the front of the class. He took out a pencil and his notebook, and was about to get to work, if a certain Chinese man hadn't walked through the door right then. Ivan perked up despite himself, and when Yao looked at him, Ivan prepared a small smile and a wave in greeting. However, one look into those broken eyes had Ivan frozen before he could even blink. Yao's brown eyes were flooding with hurt, and under Ivan's stare, he quickly turned away and headed to the other side of the room. He took a different seat than usual, near the windows and away from the Russian. Ivan watched Yao's every move, each step making his heart pang a little more. Yao avoided looking at Ivan at any cost, even when Ivan spoke to him from across the room. Eventually, Ivan returned to staring dejectedly at the blank paper in front of him. It remained blank the entire hour.

When the bell rang, Ivan found himself once again following in Yao's footsteps, although the smaller Asian man seemed keener on getting away today. Nonetheless, Ivan caught up to him, and with an apprehensiveness foreign to the Russian, he reached out and tapped Yao's shoulder.

"U-Um… привет, Yao…"

Yao stopped walking, but didn't raise his eyes.

"Ivan, you don't want me to play hooky again, do you?" Yao laughed humorlessly under his breath. Ivan felt part of him weakening, and he shook his head.

"N-No, I just…wanted to say hi."

This time, Yao did not smile back and return his greeting in his native language. Instead, he nodded weakly before trying to turn away.

"Yao, wait." Yao complied, albeit hesitantly. "Yao, I'm sorry if I made you mad the other day."

When Yao failed to respond, Ivan felt himself growing increasingly nervous. He looked down at his boots, but didn't relinquish his hold on Yao's sleeve, for fear he would run away if he did. "Yao, I won't ask you to play hooky with me anymore, so just…please, don't be mad at me."

He felt strange, asking for someone's forgiveness. It had been a long time since he felt himself so opened up, and it scared him. He felt as if he were strapped to a table with his chest torn open, his heart beating for everyone to see. He wasn't used to it, he felt weak, but he held on nonetheless.

Until Yao shook his head.

Yao's mouth opened like he was going to form words, but he didn't, and instead, he shook his head side to side sadly. He removed Ivan's hand from his shoulder, and then finally looked into his eyes. Ivan felt his breath catch in his throat. Yao whispered something almost inaudibly, but Ivan caught it nonetheless. With a blink, Yao tore his gaze away and turned and walked down the school's hallway without a word. Ivan stared after him with his hand partially outstretched until he was out of sight. Slowly, as if he would break at the tiniest motion made too quickly, Ivan dropped his hand to his side and turned away. With his hands shoved in his pockets, and his scarf raised over his nose in an effort to conceal as much of his face as possible, he stepped in the opposite direction, where his next classroom waited.

_"I'm sorry, Ivan."_

* * *

**_Vanechka: A very informal name for Ivan. It goes something like this: (Formal) Ivan - (Informal) Vanya - (Very informal) Vanechka_**

_So, I really wanted to show a different side of Ivan this time. And I think this applies to Ivan in general, but, he's still kind of a child, isn't he? Though he often puts up a strong (and admittedly scary) front, he's really a lot like a lonely child whose only desire is to be loved. Since he was robbed of his innocence as a child due to such and such circumstances, a part of him never really got to grow up._

_And honestly, trying to figure Ivan out was the main reason behind proposing the start of this two-person fanfiction. By writing his character, I get to learn more about who Ivan is as a person, and I think that's really cool! _

_But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this angsty-angst-angst. The next chapter's probably going to be just as bad if not worse, but I promise it'll have a happy ending! I promise!_

_As always, Hetalia does not belong to us. It belongs solely to Himaruya Hidekaz._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Yao**

"_It hurts to let go...You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it's so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn't come back. You're left so alone that you can't explain."  
― Henry Rollins, The Portable Henry Rollins_

When Yao walked away from Ivan, it felt more like he was running away. The confused, expectant, anxious, hurt, but most of all _scared _look in Ivan's beautiful violet eyes had nearly ruined everything.

_'I can't do it anymore.'_

Yao felt like crying. He really did. Ivan had done nothing wrong. Ivan didn't deserve this.

But then again, Yao didn't deserve him either.

So he walked (ran) down that hall, abandoning the only chance for friendship he'd had in...forever. It would probably be his last, too.

_'Why, why can't I just turn off my heart? Just for a little while? Just for him?'_

Yao found he couldn't focus in any of his other classes, a fact that held no great surprise for the Chinese man. He'd be lucky if he got decent grades...

_'I'd be lucky if I were somebody.'_

There was his old thoughts, coming back to haunt him yet again. He was so tired. So unbelievably tired of it all. _'Why me?' _he wondered, _'Why is God so cruel that He always does this to me? Why...me?'_

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Yao stood, hefting his bag over his shoulder and exiting the classroom. He kept his eyes to the ground the whole way to his locker-he would no doubt fall apart if he even caught sight of _him_ let alone those violet, violet eyes-and even after he had reached it he didn't look up.

Yao always had been a coward.

He left the college building in a hurry, not chancing a possible meeting with that man. He remained tense the whole, hour long, trek back to his apartment and then some, like he thought his former "friend" would jump out at him at any moment. And maybe he did. And maybe that man would. If he'd been given the chance.

Normally Yao would be painting in such a situation, but he couldn't bring himself to pick up a brush. He couldn't do what he'd done only days before, and think up titles for his most recent work. He couldn't even look at it. He'd taken to covering it with a sheet, unable to bear the now almost accusatory look the heather king gave him.

Yao dragged himself into his miniscule bathroom, lifting his gaze to stare into the dusty mirror.

The face staring back at him looked foreign. Dark eyes almost black now, the face showed an expression of the purest misery. He had deep bags under his eyes, a sharp frown, and was clearly sleep deprived. His brown hair remained tangled, but had actually been tied back that day and currently rested rather sloppily over his left shoulder.

He looked so...so broken...

And he was.

_'Isn't it supposed to mean something?' _he asked the person in the mirror. _'Hurt, life, _this_... It's supposed to mean something, isn't it? There's a purpose...right?' _The other just blinked slowly. Yao could imagine his silent reply.

_It means what it means. You figure it out yourself._

He wanted to scream. He didn't want to figure it out! He couldn't...

_He probably hates you now._

"I know," Yao whispered in reply, his voice hoarse with unshed tears.

_You hurt him, you know._

"I know."

_Don't you feel guilty?_

"I do. But at least I apologized. What I'm doing is right."

_Are you so sure?_

"Yes." The mirror man nodded his agreement.

_It was right._

"It was. It had to be."

_He'll be better off without you._

"He will."

_He'll get over it._

"It's not like he really cared for me anyway."

_Yes. It's not like he cared._

"He doesn't care now, either."

_He's probably celebrating right now._

"You think?"

_He's got a lot less to worry about now. You only dragged him down._

"Yes...I'm only..."

Yao nodded again, the face in the mirror mimicking the action. With a sick sort of satisfaction, he left the room and marched over to the window. His heather plant remained dead, winter still preventing it's bloom. The sky outside was white, pure white, and snow was already beginning to fall.

"I'm only..."

He closed his eyes tiredly, listening to the dull sound of nothing and finding it to be the most comforting sound he could hear at that moment.

...

The next day, a certain violet eyed man hadn't even attempted to approach him-though Yao could sense his gaze upon him, suffocating him.

He never once returned the look.

Yao tried not to appear too tense as he took out his English notebook and scribbled down some notes, but failed horribly. The weight of the other's eyes upon him was almost too much to bear, but Yao managed. He had to. For the good of everyone.

But it hurt.

He nearly leapt from his seat when the bell rung, grabbing his things and leaving in a hurry before _he _had a chance to follow.

Not that he seemed like he was going to, anyway. There were no footsteps in pursuit, no calls for him to wait, no...anything. Yao knew he should have been glad, but there was something in the action-or lack thereof-that made his hands clench and his heart constrict painfully.

_What were you expecting, a warm welcome?_ a voice in his head sneered. _Did you think he'd just come back begging you to be friends with him again? He's not stupid, you know. He knows he's in the clear now._

_'I know,' _Yao replied silently. _'I know. This is stupid, right? I'm just being stupid. I'm done with this. He's free. I'm back to my normal, pointless life, but he's doing better.'_

_Exactly._

Yao pushed his doubts to the corner of his mind and walked on. He was on his way to his next class. No problem. No problem at all. He could do this. He didn't share any more classes with _him._ Soon, it would all be over. _He _would move on, and then life would go back to normal.

His thoughts from the previous night came back to him.

_'This is right. He's better off without me. He's probably happy he doesn't have to deal with me anymore. I'm only...'_

A fake, twisted, grim smile found its way onto his face.

_'That's right...I'm only...nobody...'_

Yao had always been a coward.

* * *

_Hello, friends! And hello, yet again, to a very depressed and angsty Yao (not that he ever left)! You know what I though while writing this? It was: "Wow. You have the WORST timing on the face of this Earth, Yao." Because really. Ivan just got through the whole "I can't stand it if he leaves me" thing and Yao goes and pulls this crap. Idiot._

_Until next time! ~K-the-Robin-Lord_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Ivan**

"_I am lost without you. I am soulless, a drifter without a home, a solitary bird in a flight to nowhere. I am all these things, and I am nothing at all." ― Nicholas Sparks, __Message in a Bottle_

_I told you so._

Ivan's mind whispered the cruel words over and over every waking moment, as if his thoughts were ever consumed with something else, his life would end. Part of him wished it would.

The rest of the week had passed both slowly and quickly. Ivan had gone to school every day, but Yao refused to spare him even a glance, despite his constant stares. Eventually, Ivan had retreated, instead trying to focus on whatever meager schoolwork was placed in front of him. But never once had Ivan tried to speak to Yao. He couldn't stand to see those brown eyes again, to hear his voice again, speaking only words that were meant to run his heart through as if they were a sword. Because Ivan's heart was no longer frozen solid; instead, twelve years of hardening his mind and locking away his emotions had gone to waste within a few weeks. He was going to have to build himself back up from scratch.

Part of him wondered if that was even possible.

Ivan wasted away his Saturday morning guzzling down vodka in front of a broken TV, relishing the familiar burning in his throat. It wasn't enough to get him drunk – _nothing_ was _ever_ enough to get him drunk – but it was a small comfort nonetheless. The house, however, would have been unbearably cold to anyone else, but between his depression and the vodka in his throat, he didn't even seem to notice. He didn't care about getting the heater fixed, or the television fixed, or more than one loveseat for the entirety of his home. Instead, his mind remained hopelessly fixated on Yao.

Ivan wondered what he had done to make Yao hate him so much. He had thought taking Yao to a relaxing tea shop had been a good idea, since the Chinaman was so stressed from whatever it was that had happened to him. Apparently, that was a bad move, leading only to Yao wanting to push him away. Was it because he had called Yao his friend? That was the more probable answer. Yao had seemed thrown by the use of the word, and anyway, he probably didn't want to be tied down by a Russian giant with a frightening air about him. He was just like those three boys from long ago. He didn't want to be associated with Ivan, and as soon as he knew Ivan wanted to be anything more than a stranger, he left Ivan without a second thought.

_I told you so._

Ivan tilted the glass bottle back in an attempt to get more of the burning liquid into his throat. When only a drop landed on his tongue, he frowned, inspected the empty bottle, and reached for another. There were none. He wondered if there'd be more in the fridge, but there wouldn't be. He had grabbed every last bottle he saw and moved them to where he was sitting now. Ivan cast an unamused glance at the large pile of empty bottles sitting to his right, and huffed. He stood and wrapped his scarf around his face, and when he opened the door, the outside air was barely any colder than his living room was already. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he started walking to the nearest store.

After all, what else was there to do now but go and get more?

…

For some reason, Ivan's feet led him not to a liquor store, but to that herbal tea shop from before. Oblivious to the cold, Ivan simply stood in the middle of the sidewalk and stared up at the homely sign in surprise. This place was about as far as one could get from vodka, but instead of staring at the door dumbfounded for the next twenty minutes, he walked inside.

Once again, the tiny ring of the bell greeted him, as did a rush of warmth that spread quickly through Ivan's numb fingers. He hadn't even realized they'd been cold in the first place. A woman behind the counter smiled and said hello, to which Ivan nodded.

_Well, now what? _Ivan supposed it wouldn't hurt to get some tea while he was already here. Right now, it didn't matter that tea wasn't his favorite drink; this was the place he had last had a real conversation with Yao, and his heart wouldn't let him leave. In a hushed tone, Ivan ordered the same tea he and Yao had drank. When the steaming cup was offered to him, he took it wordlessly and sat down at the same table as before, next to the window.

Except this time, Yao wasn't sitting across from him.

Ivan lowered his scarf and took a sip of the tea. It was bitter, and it burned his tongue a little, but it was the tea Yao liked. Ivan shook his head, eyes closing tightly. Why did he keep thinking about Yao? Why did his every action revolve around what Yao did, or what Yao liked, or what Yao would have thought? This needed to stop. He couldn't keep doing this, he couldn't keep pining over a man who obviously wanted nothing to do with him.

After all, who wanted anything to do with a man like Ivan?

Gulping down the rest of his tea without taking the time to taste it, he stood abruptly and tightened the scarf around his neck. He was going to get out of here. He was going to go down the street and walk into that liquor store and buy enough vodka to fill _every fridge in Russia_ and drink himself into a coma. Figuring things out would come later, when enough time had passed for him to think clearly. At that time, he could think things through and get a real, firm hold on the situation, and act accordingly. It was decided.

Just as he was about to make his leave, a brown-haired man walked past Ivan's window, catching his attention. Ivan was sure he felt his heart stop for the whole thirty seconds the man outside was within his sights.

_Well, isn't this just perfect?_

Yao Wang was standing outside the window of this little tea shop on a Saturday afternoon, completely unaware of Ivan Braginski's eyes boring into the back of his skull. Yao stared across the street, waiting for the traffic to die down before crossing. What Yao was doing here, Ivan did not know. However, upon seeing the Asian once more, Ivan knew one thing.

He had to talk to Yao.

The vodka was no longer on his mind as he walked toward the door, a new determination glowing in his eyes. Even if Yao didn't want to be near him anymore, he had to know why. Ivan needed to know what he had done wrong.

And so he stepped outside, leaving an empty cup of tea standing alone on the table.

* * *

_Oh, the angst...! Anyway, here's the next, short chapter. The worst is yet to come!_

_Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Yao**

_"...guilt comes to you not from the things you've done, but from the things that others have done for you."  
― Margaret Atwood, Alias Grace_

By the end of the week, Yao was certain he had hit his breaking point. _He _continued to stare him down nearly every day and while he'd made no effort to approach the Chinese man, it was clear that he hadn't moved on yet.

_Just give it time_, the voice in Yao's head told him. _He'll forget about you soon enough._

But part of Yao didn't want him to forget. That was the part that-

He sat miserably in his armchair, picking absently at a loose stitch in the fabric. Loneliness pressed down on him, threatening to crush him under its weight. His heart beat with a hollow ring in his chest.

_'He might forget about me, but can I do the same for him?' _Yao wondered. He sighed, knowing just had to try.

Standing, he walked to his windowsill. Yao brushed his fingers along the flowerless but leafy stems of his heather plant almost mournfully.

"Xin teng," he whispered to the plant, stroking its leaves softly. "It hurts-aru..."

His heart ached, and no one was there to help him.

Suddenly, the once comfortable silence of the apartment grew deafening. It choked him, closed in on him, and he just needed to _breathe _because it was too quiet he was all alone with no one there to talk to him or support him or just _be there_.

He'd always been okay with that, in some way. But not now.

Deciding he needed to get some air, Yao pulled on his jacket and gloves and grabbed his keys, which he pocketed as left his apartment building.

...

The outside air was sharp and cold, but shocked him out of his perpetual lethargy. He started walking with no real direction, letting his feet guide him as he went. Snow fell lightly about him, landing in his hair and in his eyes.

He didn't care.

Yao kept going, letting his constant thoughts drift away, replaced by a dull activeness that served only to warn him if there were cars coming as he crossed the road. Yao honestly felt dead.

It was only when he reached _that place_ that his mind woke up again. It was a small herbal tea shop; a quaint little place that had advertisements posted all over its outside walls. Yao stiffened involuntarily. He had gone there earlier, accompanied by-

Yao shook his head violently and pushed on, turning his head away from the window and instead to the crosswalk nearby. Traffic wasn't very thick-thank God-but the lights shone a bright red.

He just stood there, with a group of perhaps five other people, staring out at the traffic light and watching as several vehicles passed by.

Until he heard a small _ding_, followed by a familiar, heart wrenching voice.

"Yao!" it shouted and the Asian didn't move, looking at the traffic light with bleak desperation. _Turn, turn turn turn! Turn already! He's coming, please! Just-_

"Yao, I need to talk to you!"

Yao didn't think, just took a quick glance up and down the street-the light was now yellow-and ran.

He didn't notice the car until it was too late.

Yao had gotten halfway across when he heard the sound of tires on pavement. Then the loud, ear shattering honking of a car horn. Then, out of the corner of his eye, the headlights.

He closed his eyes, unable to stop himself or get out of the way as the vehicle came.

He felt something hit his back, throwing him forward. He hit the pavement as the car came screeching to a halt.

...

Yao groaned, rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up. His body ached from the fall and he was sure to be heavily bruised, but he was otherwise unharmed. He didn't have time to ponder how the car had missed him, however, as the answer soon presented itself to him with perfect clarity.

As he turned to face the street again, his breath hitched in his throat.

The car had certainly stopped-actually, all traffic had stopped completely. People were beginning to crowd around something. Others stayed back. Someone held a phone to their ear and was shouting frantically; something about a car crash and someone needing help.

All this barely registered with Yao, as his dark eyes were fixed on the figure in the street. It was a man in a beige coat and scarf. He had silvery blonde hair, and his eyes were closed but Yao knew they were violet. The ground around him was soaked in a red substance.

Before he could control himself he was running forward, kneeling beside Ivan's motionless form. The red made a squelching noise as he did so, but Yao paid it no heed.

Up close, Ivan looked _wrong. _He was splayed out on his stomach, one of his arms bent in an impossible angle and his skin unnaturally pale. He seemed to have been reaching out for something, or _pushing someone forward._

Yao clapped his hands to his mouth to stifle a scream.

"No," he muttered in disbelief as he removed his hands, using them instead to shake Ivan slightly by the shoulders. "No, no, no-aru! Ivan! Xing lái! Ivan!" He was full out shouting now, but still the Russian did not move.

Distantly, sirens blared.

..

The health workers had had to practically drag Yao away from Ivan when they loaded him onto the ambulance. One of them asked if he was related to him. Yao said they were friends.

Still in shock, Yao tried to follow Ivan again; only to be once more restrained. One of the health workers said they'd get him a ride to the hospital, but he couldn't go with his friend in the ambulance. Yao nodded weakly, allowing himself to be led to the sidewalk. The driver of the car had gotten out and seemed to be in shock as well.

It was only after Yao was being helped into a police car-his ride to the hospital-that one coherent thought finally broke through his jumbled mind.

_'It's my fault.'_

He had run from Ivan. He had run from Ivan but Ivan had still pushed him out of the way of that car. Ivan had saved his life. It was his fault Ivan was hurt.

_Or dead._

Yao shuddered, clutching his chest. Ivan...Ivan couldn't be dead...he couldn't be...right?

He spoke in a timid voice, afraid to speak his fears out loud.

"Ivan...h-he'll be alright, w-won't he?"

The policeman in the passenger seat turned to look at him. "Don't ask me. I didn't get a good look at him."

Yao shivered again, burying his face in his hands. Ivan could die. Ivan could be dead right now and it would be his fault. _'I killed him,' _he thought fearfully. _'If he's dead, I killed him.'_

"Look," the policeman was saying again. Yao didn't look up. "I wouldn't worry too much. I heard from a witness that the car was quick with the brakes. Your friend was clearly hurt, but it probably wasn't enough to kill him."

But his words did nothing to console Yao, who began to cry silently in the back seat.

...

He wasn't allowed to see Ivan when he arrived. Ivan was in the emergency room. Yao tried asking the nurses what was happening, but they were all in a hurry and wouldn't tell him anything.

So Yao collapsed into one of the cushioned seats-which were more like short, square stools-against the wall outside the room Ivan was in. Blood soaked his jeans. Ivan's blood. He choked out a sob, tears streaming once again down his face.

_Crying won't help him._

He knew that, but he couldn't hold it in. Another sob forced its way past the lump in his throat as Yao leaned back to bang his head softly against the hospital wall.

_'God, it's all my fault...'_

Guilt had joined the torrent of emotions in his heart, making itself painfully known as Yao shook with tears. Sorrow was there, too, accompanying shock and fear.

Guilt for the "accident".

Sorrow for everything he had done.

Shock that Ivan had saved him, despite it all.

Fear that Ivan would die in that room, behind those doors.

If-_when_-Ivan woke up, Yao would tell him not to press charges against the driver. Yao was the only one who deserved to be punished here.

"Ivan..." he whispered through his tears, "p-please be alright...

"W-wo ài n-ni..."

_I love you._

* * *

_**Xin teng: It hurts/heartache**_

_**Xing lái: Wake up**_

_**Qing hao ma: Please be alright**_

_...We are so evil._

_Many thanks to Niobium for the help in translating Chinese!_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**Ivan**

"_If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger."_

― _Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights_

It was dark.

The darkness wasn't something so much Ivan could see as it was something he could feel. Around him pressed an everlasting oppression, its shadowy tendrils reaching in where Ivan was standing, beckoning, calling out to him in a wordless voice. It wanted Ivan to give in, to join the shadows that had become like family to him, to rest in the familiar comfort they brought.

Part of Ivan thought it wasn't such a bad idea.

Ivan couldn't cause himself to recall past memories. Instead, he remembered emotions. The feelings hurt him, weighing down on his heart until he feared he would break. If he only reached out his arm, he could get the pain to go away. But every time he almost gave in, a strange emotion would flicker through his mind, chasing away the agony. It came and went as fast as blinking, but without the darkness; a bright light instead took the place of the shadows and for that instant, Ivan felt safe.

That momentary comfort was enough to keep Ivan's arm at his side.

…

…

For an eternity Ivan had walked the darkness. It gave way to his form as he traversed it, wandering in any number of directions without any sign of an exit. The cloud of oppression hanging over him was everywhere and yet nowhere, and Ivan didn't bother to think as he pressed forward.

At one point – Ivan didn't quite remember when, exactly – words drifted back to Ivan. He had tangible thoughts once more, not just those waves of feeling, and the first sentence he formed was _"Where am I?"_

Whatever was keeping him moving never allowed him to stop, but his chest felt heavy, and he felt as though he were suffocating in oxygen. Once, Ivan tried to scream; all that came out of his mouth was silence.

…

…

With Ivan's thoughts back, he tried to recall how he ended up in this lightless abyss. He remembered those three kids from his childhood, and his parents as they left him, and his sisters as they moved away to pursue their dreams. And he remembered Yao. He remembered Yao stuttering upon being called pretty, and Yao as he warmed up on Ivan's couch, and Yao wearing Ivan's coat as he walked down the street, and Yao drinking tea on a cold morning because Ivan had forced him to play hooky. He also remembered Yao pushing him away, hurting him, betraying him, and reminding him once again what true loneliness was really like.

His mind didn't even bother to tell him 'I told you so' this time.

And then Ivan remembered the car. He had called out to Yao, and Yao had run from him. He remembered the fear that had coursed through his veins as the car sped towards the Asian, and Ivan ran after him across the street, and _pushed_.

Ivan Braginski didn't remember what came after that. Was he dead? Was this what death looked like – and endless abyss of darkness, threatening to crush his bones and smother his will? Ivan figured it didn't matter so much whether he was alive or not. However, he hoped desperately that he had managed to reach Yao in time. He hoped Yao wasn't hurt, that the car had missed him, that he was alive and well and going back to school and making art. At these thoughts, Ivan laughed soundlessly, sadly. Yao had been just like all the others in the end. He had betrayed Ivan just as the Russian opened up to him, had driven a knife through his heart as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Why, then, had Ivan taken the car in his place?

_Isn't it because he's your friend?_

Was he? Because Yao sure didn't seem to think so. Yao wanted nothing to do with him; a fact that had been made painfully clear. And yet, in the depths of Ivan's heart, he knew he could never hate him.

_Do you love him?_

…Maybe he did. Love was a foreign concept to him, but just maybe, Yao was different. Maybe Ivan had felt so drawn to the man, not because he was a curiosity, but because he wanted to know more about him. If that were so, then Ivan wasn't sure what to make of himself. On one hand, he was ashamed; he allowed one stranger to break through twelve years' worth of emotional walls within no more than two weeks. On the other hand…

_If I managed to protect him, that makes me happy._

…

Light poured over Ivan's face – from where, he wasn't sure. He stirred. Suddenly, the darkness was thin, dispersing as rays of light broke through like the sun after a rainy day. When Ivan looked to his left, the light got brighter; the exit, he supposed, to this labyrinth of shadows. Instinctively, he stepped toward it. The light washed over his being, wrapping him in a blanket of warmth. It felt…nice. Unlike anything he had ever felt before. The shadows behind him watched silently, unconcerned, as he left. It wasn't as though he wouldn't return, after all.

Ivan's eyelids fluttered open slowly, heavily, to reveal a white ceiling hanging over his head. He tried to remember where he was, but a sharp bullet of pain through his mind instantly caused him to back off. Helpless and unable to move, Ivan tried to control his breathing as every bone in his body awoke, screaming in protest as he started to hurt again. His body was too heavy to move, and the most he could do was blink, and that worried him a little. Why couldn't he sit up? Why was he in so much agony? Wasn't the light supposed to have made him feel better, instead of worse?

Ivan was on the verge of becoming scared when a small sound came from his left. With a great deal of effort, Ivan turned his head on the pillow to face the noise. His eyes widened in surprise upon what he saw.

_What was Yao doing here?_

Indeed, the smaller man was passed out on his bedside, whimpering quietly in his sleep. His unkempt dark hair fell listlessly about his face and tumbled across the sheets in a messy wave. The dark bags under his eyes indicated he had hardly slept in weeks, but otherwise, he appeared unharmed.

Ivan's eyes trailed down his hunched form until they landed on what he was holding. Yao's hand rested gently on top of Ivan's very own. Yao was holding his hand carefully but firmly, as though he were afraid of breaking him but didn't want to let go.

Frankly, Ivan was too surprised to feel embarrassed, but the happiness that stirred in his heart encouraged Ivan not to push him away, but to remain. Ivan gave Yao's hand a weak squeeze, and the Chinese man's eyes opened slowly in response. He lay still for a while, trying to gather his bearings, but after some time his eyes slid up to Ivan's face. Dark brown eyes met shocking violet, and Yao's breath caught in his throat.

"I-Ivan…?" Yao spoke his name with such timidity, such hesitation; as though he were afraid Ivan would never reply and vanish off the face of the earth.

The Russian forced a small, painful smile onto his face and mouthed the word "yes".

Yao's lip quivered as his eyes filled up with unshed tears, and he shook his head, tightening his grip on Ivan's hand. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and sniffled, and the sight made Ivan want to hold him and comfort him, anything to stop his hurting.

"I-I-Ivan, I…I thought y-you'd n-n-never wake u-up, and…" Yao's voice trailed off as he attempted to control the shakiness and the sobs that threatened to take over his form any second now.

Ivan frowned, and tried to speak, but the dryness of his throat made his voice crack. When he tried again, it was raspy, but he managed to get out, "Don't…cry, Yao…"

Yao sniffled and nodded, his arm over his eyes, hiding his face. Then, out of nowhere, he threw himself forward and fell into Ivan's chest, still refusing to let go of Ivan's hand. "Ivan, I was so worried a-about you…If you had died, I… I don't know what I would have done…"

Uncertain, Ivan tried to move his free arm to hug Yao's trembling frame, but found it wouldn't move. Not bothering to question it at this moment, he simply lay there as Yao sobbed into his chest. "Hush, Yao… it's okay, now. I…I'm okay, so you…you don't have to cry…"

Despite how miserable his voice sounded, Yao eventually calmed, and ended up only sniffling quietly as he sat back in his seat. The two men watched each other for some time, pensively, waiting for what would come next. Ivan offered Yao another tiny smile, then hesitantly asked, "Are…are you okay…?"

Yao cringed as he thought about his answer, but nodded. "Yes, you…you took the full blow."

Ivan relaxed and let out a small breath. "That's good," he whispered almost under his breath.

"No, it's not!" Ivan blinked as Yao stood suddenly, glaring into Ivan's eyes. "I'm the one who should've gotten hit! It's my fault you got run over! If I hadn't been so stupid as to run out in the middle of the road like that, you wouldn't have gotten hurt!"

Just then, the grief in Yao's brown eyes broke through in a look Ivan had worn on his face his entire life. He saw himself in the reflection of Yao's eyes, confused and angry and scared and lonely. He saw many years' worth of self-depreciation spill out of his soul, and in that moment, Ivan realized something.

_He's just like me._

Ivan slowly removed his hand from Yao's hold, and painfully raised his arm until his hand brushed against the side of Yao's face. The man flinched back at the unfamiliar touch but was otherwise frozen in place, eyes locked with Ivan's as though under a spell. Ivan cupped the side of Yao's head with a trembling hand and felt as the Asian involuntarily leaned into the touch, anger dissolving as Ivan wiped the tear stains off his cheek with his thumb. Tentatively, Ivan pulled Yao closer. In a sort of worried uncertainty, their lips brushed; they did so again, and then any doubt was temporarily wiped from their minds as their mouths met in a short, chaste kiss. Yao backed away only slightly, eyes narrowing in confusion as his face hovered over Ivan's. And for now, Ivan's injuries were forgotten as a smile, small but _true_, graced his lips.

"I'm glad you're not hurt, Yao-Yao."

Yao watched Ivan's face thoughtfully as he tried to decide whether to feel happy or guilty. Instead of choosing, however, he closed his eyes and leaned in for another kiss.

Yao quickly retook Ivan's hand in his.

* * *

_We do not own Axis Powers Hetalia._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**Yao**

"_No one blames her."  
"That never matters," said Alec. "Not when you blame yourself."  
__― Cassandra Clare, City of Lost Souls_

When Ivan's violet eyes opened again, Yao felt his world fall apart and come back together again.

Ivan was alive.

Ivan was okay.

Yao never wanted to leave the Russian's side again, but it was inevitable. The nurse came into the room not long after Ivan had woken up, and told him to leave while she took a few tests to see if he was alright. Yao had to practically tear his hand away from the violet eyed man's.

It felt wrong, to leave Ivan. In the weeks since the accident, Yao had rarely been anywhere but the small white hospital room. He'd been allowed leave at school and had finally decided to use his vacation days for work. He had almost never slept, or even eaten in those weeks. When he went home-only when visiting hours were over-he couldn't bring himself to do anything but sit in his armchair and worry about Ivan. Being away from him just felt wrong now.

Sitting back outside Ivan's hospital room, Yao's face grew hot. He had just kissed Ivan. Twice.

He covered his face with his hands, not sure what he was even feeling. There was relief, embarrassment, love, lingering guilt-Yao doubted that would go away anytime soon since it _was_ his fault Ivan got hit by a car-and a million other emotions he couldn't name if he tried.

When he finally managed to calm his racing heart, he took the time to think about what had just occurred.

Ivan hadn't blamed him. Ivan had worried about him instead of himself. Ivan had _kissed him._ Granted, that last one was fairly mutual, but still. Yao had been certain Ivan hated him. If he had somewhat initiated the kiss, then did that mean...?

He shook his head, face burning again. There was no way to know for sure. He'd have to ask Ivan himself-no. That was a bad idea. A horrible, disgusting, terrible idea.

_'Remember where that got you last time,' _he told himself sternly. _'Remember, and don't make that mistake again.'_

Then the nurse came back, nodding to him.

"Is he alright?" Yao asked, leaping to his feet immediately.

"He won't be able to move for a while," the nurse replied, checking her clipboard, "but he's definitely doing much better."

Yao breathed a sigh of relief. "Gànxie shangdì...thank you..." He then grinned, a little sheepishly. "Can I, uh, go back in now-aru?"

The nurse nodded again, and Yao nearly dashed back into Ivan's room. The Russian smiled as he entered.

"Привет again, Yao," he said, his voice slightly stronger than before. He was still deathly pale, hooked up to several machines, and bandaged all over-including the cast on his broken arm-but he was awake and getting better. That was enough.

"Ní hao, Ivan," Yao smiled back nervously. "You're...alright, right?"

"да..." the other breathed, his heart monitor beeping rhythmically in the background. Yao moved closer, taking Ivan's hand again as he sat down at the other's bedside.

"I'm sorry, Ivan. For everything."

Ivan seemed surprised, and squeezed the Asian's hand consolingly. "It's...alright, Yao. But...why did you...start avoiding me?" He looked almost afraid when he asked that. Vulnerable.

Yao turned away, not releasing Ivan's hand. "I...It wasn't you. I just...well..."

_'You just kissed him, you idiot! Why can't you just say it?!' _the voice in his head screamed in annoyance.

"Then...what was it?" he heard Ivan whisper from beside him.

He wanted to say, "I love you," but all that came out was, "I thought you'd be better off...without me dragging you down-aru. Does that make sense?"

Ivan was silent. Yao snuck a glance at him the corner of his eye. He looked shocked, contemplative, and maybe a little understanding. Maybe.

"I-I mean...I'm no one special-aru. And I'm...well...I've never really been that successful. With people-aru." He was sorely tempted to add "and life", but that seemed a bit much-even if it was true.

"..."

Yao couldn't help it; he returned his gaze to Ivan. The Russian's expression had changed to one of disbelief.

"That's it?"

Yao fidgeted uncomfortably. "It's...hard to explain."

They fell back into a tense silence. Yao's dark eyes wandered across the room, not yet ready to meet Ivan's directly.

_'I love you. There are so many things I want to say right now. Most of all, I love you. And I'm sorry. I want to apologize to you, not just once but a thousand times. Again, and again. Apologize until I can't breathe. And then some. I love you, Ivan. So much that it hurts. I-'_

"Yao-"

"Ivan-"

Both men looked at each other and blushed.

"You go first."

"O-okay-aru." Yao met Ivan's gaze. "I just wanted to...apologize again. I'm really sorry you're hurt. I'm sorry. It's..." he felt his voice break again. "It's all my fault-aru. Everything is my fault. Everything." He lowered his head, at the same time lifting his and Ivan's hands to his forehead. "I'm sorry..."

"It's alright, Yao, really..."

"I-I was so worried about you. I thought...I thought I killed you. I'm horrible. I don't deserve you...being so forgiving-aru..." He felt like he was about to cry again. He wanted to. He was opening up too much, showing his heart too much, _being_ too much. But he felt like he owed it to Ivan. But maybe it was too much. Maybe Ivan just wanted him to shut up. He probably did.

"Yao, please don't avoid me anymore."

"Huh?" Shocked, Yao raised his eyes again. There was a pleading look in Ivan's, accompanied by a slight desperation.

"It hurts when you avoid me, Yao. Please, don't do it anymore."

Weakly, Yao nodded. "Okay...aru..."

"That is..." Ivan hesitated, "if you don't mind."

"N-no-aru! I...I want to stay with you," Yao murmured, his face growing red again.

"I really do."

* * *

_When Yao was referring to "the last time", he means his brotherly problems concerning Kiku. Just for clarification._

_We've also got up to chapter 23 written out already, so expect reviews much more frequently from now on!_

_We do not own Hetalia or its characters._


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**Ivan**

"_Falling in love with someone doesn't mean you know any better how they feel. It only means you know how to feel." ― David Levithan, __Every Day_

"I, uh…did the best I could-aru. I'm sorry if it doesn't look so good…"

Ivan turned his attention away from the window and looked at Yao, who was just entering the doorway. It had already been almost a full week since Ivan had woken up, and although the Asian had gone back to school and his job, he still stopped by whenever he could. Meanwhile, Ivan had been recovering rapidly, so much so the nurses joked about him having super powers or something like that. Already, though he could not yet stand, he was starting to move around again, and he didn't sleep as much as he had in the beginning. His arm was still out of commission, to his annoyance, but things were looking good.

Yao walked up to Ivan's bedside and sat down on the chair there, a bundle of fabric nestled in his arms. He looked nervous, fidgeting uncomfortably, but then thrust the cloth into Ivan's arms with a downcast gaze. The Russian hesitantly took it from him, eyes widening in shock as he felt the fabric between his fingers.

"Yao! This is…my scarf, да?"

Yao sneaked a glance at Ivan's face, and he nodded. "The nurses were going to throw it out, but I knew you liked it, so I…I asked them if I could have it-aru. I couldn't exactly get the…" Yao choked on the word coming next, but took a deep breath and continued. "…so anyway, I cut out those pieces and sewed new ones in-aru. The color's a little off, and the patchwork isn't very neat, but-"

Ivan didn't care. He leaned over as far as he could and wrapped his unbroken arm around Yao, a bright smile plastered to his face. He felt Yao stiffen under the unfamiliar touch, but he didn't move away. "Ivan…?" he asked tentatively, his voice trembling slightly.

"Yao-Yao, you saved my scarf for me…and you even fixed it up? Спасибо! Спасибо, это так много значит для меня!"

Yao seemed dazed by the incoherent bout of Russian, but he hesitantly pat Ivan's back in response. Still grinning like a fool, Ivan pulled back from the hug, looking down at the scarf in his lap. His gaze shifted back up to Yao as an idea formed in his head. "Yao, sit beside me!"

Yao's dazed expression switched to a baffled look. "Wha- but I already am-aru!"

"Нет, I mean right beside me, on the bed! Come on, Yao-Yao!" Ivan pat the sheets beside him expectantly, flashing Yao one of his most endearing smiles.

Yao looked as though he were about to protest, but instead bit his bottom lip and moved forward, seating himself right on the edge. He sent a shy glance back at Ivan and asked, "Is this good-aru?"

The Russian grinned and wrapped his one arm around the Asian's waist in a surprise hold, then yanked him closer. Yao let out a shocked squeak as he was forcefully pressed against Ivan's side, and he turned around to face the taller man indignantly. "Ack, Ivan! How is it you're so strong even when you're bedridden-aru?! And with _one arm_!"

Ivan simply smiled and hummed in reply before letting go of Yao's waist in favor of picking up his scarf. Yao watched with quiet fascination as Ivan gently fingered the scarf. Watching Yao out of the corner of his eyes, he slowly lifted the cloth and draped it over his own neck. Instead of wrapping it only around himself, however, he wrapped it over Yao as well, and continued looping it until there was no more left. Ivan closed his eyes and bathed in these feelings that washed over him. They were so foreign to him – warmth, comfort, _real happiness _– but somehow, it only felt right. The loneliness that had weighed his ankles like shackles was no longer there, its absence filled with another emotion new to him. He could not give it a name, yet, but it caressed his heart and stoked his inner fire, burning gently.

And then Ivan was pulled away from his thoughts as nervous brown eyes turned to meet Ivan's, his face mostly hidden by a patched up scarf. Ivan felt like kissing him again; he held himself back, however, considering Yao had yet to say anything about the subject, and thus Ivan was uncertain whether the action was warranted. Instead, Ivan chose to speak.

"ты прекрасна, Yao."

Yao raised an eyebrow in question. "Ivan, I don't speak Russian-aru."

Ivan laughed softly, turning his face away to hide the color that was surely rising to his cheeks. "It means, 'thanks for the scarf'."

Now it was Yao's turn to blush. He tried to move away, but the scarf around his neck kept him in place, so he settled instead for looking away embarrassedly. "It's not that good," he muttered under his breath, his expression slowly darkening. He refused to look at Ivan, but the Russian could see his features were drawn to accommodate a frown on his lips. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more-aru. I should've done something to help you. All I did was save a piece of fabric, I should've done more to help you get better…"

Ivan frowned and sat straighter, trying to get a better view of Yao's face. "Yao, look at me." When the Chinaman made no move to do so, Ivan repeated himself again. "Yao, please, look at me."

Yao slowly did as he was told and met Ivan's eyes. The Russian's heart wanted to break at the sadness in the dark depths of those orbs. "Yao, is this about the car accident again?"

Yao didn't make any move to indicate his answer, but the despair in his face told Ivan 'yes'. Ivan sighed and leaned over, settling his head on Yao's shoulder with a quiet sigh. "I told Yao-Yao not to worry about that, remember? I'm glad it was me who got hit. If you got hurt, Yao, I wouldn't ever be able to forgive myself."

Yao narrowed his eyes slightly. "But it wouldn't have been your fault-aru. Why would you need to forgive yourself for anything?"

Ivan's violet eyes slid open slightly to look up at Yao's face. _Why are you so intent on blaming yourself, Yao? Why do you feel it's necessary to tie each and every rope around your neck, instead of leaving them for the people who earned them? _"Even if you were a thousand – no, a million miles away, if you got hurt, I would never forgive myself. I would say, 'if I had just been there, I could've saved you'."

Yao looked like he wanted to ask something else, but Ivan wouldn't allow him the opportunity. Instead, he abruptly changed the subject. "By the way, Yao-Yao?"

Yao raised an eyebrow in confusion as he looked down upon Ivan's face on his shoulder. A mischievous smile played at the corner of the Russian's mouth as he spoke. "The nurses said I would be able to get out of here soon," he half-sang.

Yao's expression brightened, just a little bit. "That's great news-aru. Do you know when?"

"As soon as I can stand with the help of crutches, she said. But…there is one condition."

Yao's brow formed a crease as he sent Ivan an inquisitive gaze. "And, uh…what's that-aru?"

Ivan's smile broadened as he closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth of Yao and the scarf. "The nurses tell me I'm not allowed to live on my own until I get better."

While he couldn't see his face, he felt Yao gulp nervously. "Aiyah…don't you have a sister or something? You mentioned one once, right?"

"Mhm," Ivan agreed with a yawn. Curse his never-ending need to sleep. "I have two, but they live really, really, _really_ far away. So…can I live with Yao-Yao?"

He could sense Yao's discomfort as the other shifted anxiously, but honestly, Yao was the only person Ivan really knew. If Yao disagreed, he'd be forced to remain in this hospital for another couple weeks or a month or something, and the thought irritated him to no end. And besides, spending more time with the peculiar Asian was always a good idea in his book.

"I don't exactly own…well, a house, Ivan. I live in a one-bedroom apartment."

"That's no problem, Yao-Yao…I often sleep on the couch anyway."

"I don't really have any food, either."

"I don't have to eat too much."

Yao sighed and rested his face on his fist, sounding like he was at a loss. "Why not at your house-aru?"

"Well," Ivan yawned again, and he felt his brain moving slower. That wasn't fair. He wasn't done talking to Yao yet! "I suppose we could…but there's no heat…and I broke the TV…"

"You…broke the TV?"

"Threw a…a remote at it…"

Yao didn't seem to know how to respond. Finally, he gave another tiny sigh, relenting. "Fine-aru. I…guess you could live with me." He glanced down as Ivan yawned again. "But for now, you need to sleep-aru."

Yao tried to move out of the scarf-hold, but Ivan grabbed his hand and gave him a desperate look. "Yao, can you stay? You're so warm…"

Yao blushed and averted his eyes, but he gave Ivan a short nod and settled down again. The two of them lay down, Yao on top of the hospital sheets and Ivan underneath, wrapped up in a cozy scarf as they lay against one another. Ivan instantly navigated towards the warmth, and nuzzled his face against Yao's arm, not yet relinquishing his hold on the Asian's thin hand.

"I haven't been this warm…in such a long time…"

Yao didn't comment. Instead, he simply lay there, and ordered Ivan to "go to sleep," a command which was executed almost immediately.

That night, Ivan dreamt of a warm place, with sunlight and sunflowers and Yao. And he never wanted to leave.

* * *

Спасибо! Спасибо, это так много значит для меня (Spasibo! Spasibo, eto tak mnogo znachit dlya menya!): Thank you! Thank you, it means so much to me!

Нетnet: No

ты прекрасна (ty prekrasna): You're beautiful


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Yao**

"_Maybe he would see me as weak and stupid. Maybe he was right."  
― Leslea Tash, Bird After Bird_

A few days later, Ivan was up and moving on a hospital-provided crutch (as he couldn't manage two with his arm how it was). Which meant he was going to be staying at Yao's apartment. Which meant he'd finally get a look at how pathetic Yao really was...

Yao stifled a groan as he walked to Ivan's hospital room. He was glad the Russian was getting out, he really was, but Apartment 206 was a place he'd rather no one else see-what with the practically empty mini-fridge, ratty armchair, handful of free TV channels, and horrible paintings scattered haphazardly around the place. Yao had done his best to clean the area, stashing some of his artworks away and picking various objects off the floor, but it was impossible to make the dingy apartment look like a home. Or anything near.

He slowly opened the hospital door, poking his head inside the room nervously.

"Ah! Yao-Yao!" Ivan greeted him with a smile. The violet eyed Russian was already up on his crutch, wearing a simple pair of jeans and a beige coat that looked strangely like the one he'd been wearing before the...accident. Also, wrapped loosely around his neck, was the scarf.

Ivan had blatantly refused to part with the badly-patched piece of fabric since Yao had given it to him, a fact that warmed the Chinese man's heart somewhat.

"N-nín hao, Ivan..." Yao stuttered, barely managing a lopsided smirk of his own. _'I really don't want you to see what you're going to see. I'm going to look so pathetic I just know it. Ivan...please please _please _don't judge me too much for this...' _he silently pleaded, though somewhere in his mind he thought, _'But you should judge me. I hurt you. Pass judgment on me. Punish me please-_ "Are you ready to go?"

Ivan nodded cheerfully, leaning awkwardly on his single crutch. Yao's eyes darted uncomfortably to the Russian's cast. "I'm glad I get to stay with Yao-Yao."

Blushing, Yao moved to help him walk. "L-let's get going-aru. The doctor already signed your release papers, right?"

"да. I'm good to go!" Ivan smiled, accepting the assistance as the smaller man laid a nervous hand on his back to keep him from falling. As the pair made their way down the hall, Yao opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm...I'm really sorry, Ivan, but I...um," he coughed lamely, "don't have a car."

Ivan kept limping along, and judging by his expression he wasn't that surprised. "I always did wonder why you were out of breath when you arrived at school!" he laughed, violet eyes glinting mischievously. A little more seriously, he added, "But don't worry, Yao-Yao. I don't have a car, either. And long-distance commuting isn't a problem for me."

"But you're hurt-aru."

"And you're here to support me, да?"

Face turning slightly red once again, Yao led Ivan onward until they were out the hospital's main doors. The temperature was, blessedly, mild and a soft breeze blew through the air. Ivan stilled for a moment, clearly reveling in the feel of sunlight upon his face. Yao couldn't stop himself from smiling at the peaceful look upon the other.

With all his heart, he wished he could be someone Ivan could be proud of. Then he wouldn't have to hide, wouldn't have to turn away. Then he'd have a chance.

But as things stood, Yao knew that no matter what had occurred in that hospital room-he still couldn't forget the feeling of Ivan's lips on his-he would only ever be the poor friend, the sideline supporter. What had happened was a one-time event, Ivan's judgment most likely clouded by the drugs he was on at the time.

"Yao?" Ivan said from his side, dragging Yao from his thoughts.

"Hao, Ivan?"

"How far is your place, anyway?"

"Um...not that far-aru..."

"Okay!"

Silence fell over them again. Ivan stumbled a little, but with Yao's help quickly caught himself. He flashed the Asian a grateful smile.

They didn't speak until they stood in front of Yao's apartment building.

"H-here we are-aru," the smaller man announced, guiding Ivan to the main door.

"It seems like a nice place," Ivan replied.

Yao signed, but didn't say any more. He had them take the elevator, seeing as how the alternative would be the stairs. Within a few seconds, it dinged and the sliding doors opened to the second floor.

"Which room, Yao-Yao?" Ivan asked with a smile.

"Room 2...0...6..." the Chinese man answered, moving down the hall as he did. Nervously, he slid his keys in the lock and pushed the door inward. Hanging back, his eyes slid to the floor as his friend entered.

"I, er, tried to clean up a little-aru," he muttered in his defense, "but there was a lot of stuff lying around and...and I haven't really had much time-aru..."

Ivan stopped in the center of the main room, his violet eyes scouring the area. Yao let his own wander, noticing with a wince how untidy the place really was. Ivan gasped.

"Oh, Yao-Yao! I didn't know you were so good at painting!" he exclaimed, moving to stand in front of one of Yao's works-a simple painting of a panda. Yao had never thought of that one as very good. "And this one, too!" This time he stumbled over to one of Yao's abstracts.

The painter blushed, not prepared for such praise. "Th-they're not that great..."

"You're kidding, да?" Ivan replied over his shoulder. "These are amazing!"

He gasped again. Yao cringed.

Ivan was now staring at the painting by the window-the heather king.

"Yao-Yao...this is beautiful!"

Taken aback, Yao couldn't find the words to form a reply.

Ivan turned back to him, a broad smile on his childish face. "Yao should have let me come over earlier! You're a really skilled artist!"

"W-well...um...a-actually, in the art society these are rather average-aru. I'm...not that great..." Yao muttered, flattered but not swayed in the slightest. He knew where he stood in the world-and where he always would. Nothing Ivan said would change that.

"Что? No way! These are really good!" he protested. Yao just sighed and shook his head, before helping Ivan to the couch (it had come with the apartment) and sitting down next to him. The Russian leaned gratefully into the cushions, excited energy deflated and clearly exhausted.

"Do you want to rest for now-aru?" Yao suggested with concern.

Tiredly, Ivan replied, "I just need to sit for a bit. I'll be fine."

"Ivan."

At Yao's glare, Ivan laughed and wrapped his unbroken left arm around the smaller man's shoulders, pulling him close.

"Ivan!" Yao cried out in surprise as he was pushed up against the Russian's chest. Restrained by the other's (rather incredible) strength, he could only struggle to a small extent. "Ivan..."

"Да, Yao-Yao?" his captor grinned mischievously, nuzzling into the Asian's dark brown hair.

"Why are you so strong-aru?"

"I believe you've asked me this before, Yao-Yao."

"You never answered me."

Ivan seemed to contemplate this, then hugged Yao tighter. "I don't know!" he answered cheerfully.

Yao fought the urge to fully ensconce himself in the Russian's hold.

_Don't get too comfortable. He is just being friendly. Nothing else. Don't let your guard down. Don't relax. This is dangerous. You can't leave him, but you can't get too close. Be careful. Keep your heart closed.'_

"Yao? Are you alright?"

"Huh?" he looked up, into a pair of worried violet eyes. _'No, never-_"Yeah, I'm okay."

* * *

Что? (chto) (Russian): What?

_Here's another chapter! Just to let you guys know, there will be a total of 25 chapters plus an epilogue. We're getting there, huh?_

_We do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or its characters._


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**Ivan**

"_When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand." ― Henri J.M. Nouwen, __Out of Solitude: Three Meditations on the Christian Life_

When Yao's apartment door first opened, the first thing Ivan had noticed were the paintings that adorned the walls.

They were gorgeous – expertly painted, with soft yet strong strokes of various colors – and were sitting neatly around the room. Ivan couldn't help but gasp at being surrounded by the paintings as he stepped into the center of the room. And then his eyes caught sight of a painting by the window.

Ivan's heart stopped. The painting showed a featureless man in violet who stood in the middle of a field of – was that heather? – as if he owned it. Flames licked at the plants and consumed them. He couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it, but Ivan could almost _feel_ the deep emotions radiating off it.

"Yao-Yao, this is beautiful!" he exclaimed in pure awe, unable to tear his gaze away from the artwork. After a few seconds, Ivan turned around, excited, and met Yao's eyes. "Yao should have let me come over earlier! You're a really skilled artist!"

Yao had looked uncomfortable at the compliment, wringing his hands nervously. When he explained his creations were only average, Ivan couldn't believe it. He had seen artwork at museums before – there were some really weird ones that made Ivan wonder what even made them art – but so far, Yao's were his favorites. He could tell how much heart and soul he had put into every stroke, and that was something lots of those other artworks didn't have. Wasn't that what the art world should focus on?

But then again, they don't really know Yao. They wouldn't be able to understand him.

_And you do?_

Ivan ignored the little voice in his head as he allowed Yao to guide him to a small two-person chair leaning up against the far wall. He used his crutch to lower himself down to the seat and instantly leaned back into the cushions, sighing gratefully. He would never admit it, but the walk had taken more out of him than he'd expected, and he felt as though he might never stand again. He'd probably be okay with that.

Yao sat down beside the Russian, keeping some distance while watching him intently. With a worried tone, he asked, "Do you want to rest for now-aru?"

Ivan looked at the Asian from the corner of his eye and gave him a playful smile. "I just need to sit for a bit. I'll be fine."

"Ivan."

Yao glared at Ivan, obviously catching on to the fact that he was much more exhausted than he was letting on.

Well, we'll just have to prove him wrong, won't we?

Laughing, Ivan reached to his side and once more wrapped his left arm around Yao's waist, yanking him close. The Asian cried out his name in surprise as Ivan hugged him against his chest, and Ivan chuckled amusedly when Yao attempted to struggle out of his hold but was unable to. Giving up, the man repeated Ivan's name again, this time in some mixture of exasperation and confusion.

"Да, Yao-Yao?" Ivan responded, resting his face in Yao's hair as a mischievous grin split his face uncontrollably.

"Why are you so strong-aru?"

Ivan giggled. "I believe you've asked me this before, Yao-Yao."

"You never answered me."

Well, Ivan supposed that much was true. Honestly, he wasn't sure how he'd grown so strong. He barely had enough money for necessary nutrition, and he wasn't a big fan of working out (it was something he did only once or twice a week) so he simply shrugged and tightened his grip on the Asian's waist in show. "I don't know!" he laughed in response.

Yao sighed and rolled his eyes, but the tiniest of smiles wormed its way onto his lips. Then in a brief second the smile had turned into a frown, and he stilled in Ivan's hold. Ivan's own smile slid off his face as Yao remained silent, gaze lowered. Suddenly growing concerned, Ivan quietly asked, "Yao? Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Yao looked up, shaken from his thoughts. His eyes looked conflicted as he thought about his answer, but he hurriedly replied. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Ivan's brow creased in disbelief, and he leaned his forehead against Yao's. "Are you sure?" He pressed.

He felt Yao's breath against his face as he spoke. "Yes, I am. I was just thinking, that's all."

"About what?"

Yao seemed to think his answer over before laughing weakly. Ivan could tell it was fake. "I was just trying to figure out where I'd be sleeping tonight."

Ivan raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Huh? What do you mean? You'll sleep where you normally do, да?"

"I'm not going to force my guest to sleep on the couch, Ivan!" Yao narrowed his eyes, staring into Ivan's face, as if he had said something incredibly stupid.

"Why not? I like sleeping on couches."

"That's not the problem-aru!" Yao sighed and closed his eyes, allowing his forehead to fall from Ivan's as he sat up. Ivan found himself missing Yao's body heat, but he didn't try to reach over again. Instead, he watched as Yao massaged his temple, trying to find out what to do. "Look, Ivan, you won't get better by sleeping on this cramped couch. You're sleeping in my bed – I'll take this here."

Ivan shook his head. "No, I'm not going to chase Yao-Yao out of his bed. I'll be fine, I promise!"

Yao's cheeks puffed out in irritation as he leaned back against the cushions with an exasperated sigh. Ivan hummed in thought until an idea flashed in his mind. With an excited gleam in his eyes, he grabbed Yao's hand with his and Yao turned to look at him.

"Yao-Yao! I have an idea!"

Yao said nothing, but his expression encouraged Ivan to continue.

"Let's both sleep in your bed! Then neither of us will kick each other out to sleep on the couch!"

Ivan smiled to himself at his rather brilliant answer to their problem, but Yao seemed to feel otherwise. The Asian's face burned red almost instantly, and he almost glared at Ivan, suddenly growing flustered. "I-Ivan! What are you saying? W-We can't do that!"

"Awwww! Why not?" Ivan whined with a pout.

Yao looked away, still blushing furiously. He seemed to be searching for a suitable answer. "B-Because…Because the bed's too small-aru! There's no way we'd both fit!"

Ivan smiled and flopped sideways onto Yao, giggling. "Then we do this!" Yao covered his mouth with one of his hands as he fidgeted nervously. Ivan looked up with wide eyes as he studied the Asian's expression with interest. "What's wrong, Yao? Am I uncomfortable?"

Yao seemed to choke on air upon hearing the question. Ivan watched with a curious gaze as Yao calmed himself and took a deep breath, then let it out, refusing to meet Ivan's eyes. "I…I never said that-aru…"

If Yao was going to continue the sentence, Ivan never found out. He laughed once, burrowing his head in Yao's neck, despite the other's yelp of protest. "Ура! I think Yao-Yao's comfortable too, so there's no problem, да?"

Yao shivered as Ivan spoke into his neck, and he shifted away from the Russian, to his dismay. Once safely out of reach, Yao regarded Ivan with a cautious stare, before finally sighing and closing his eyes in resignation. "I…I guess it's okay."

Ivan smiled.

…

The day had actually passed somewhat quickly, though Ivan had ended up hardly moving from the couch the entire time. Ivan had attempted to get Yao to talk more, especially about simple things like his job or his art, but the Chinese man would instantly close up and retreat back into his shell, replying at most with a shrug or a deflection of compliments. Eventually, Ivan moved onto talking about himself. He told Yao he was born in Russia, and that he moved to America when he was about twelve. He told Yao his birthday was December 30th, that he disliked the cold, and that his favorite flower was the sunflower.

"What are your sisters like-aru?"

Ivan hummed in thought as Yao sat down on the floor in front of the couch, watching Ivan with an interested gaze. His sisters were…unique. He loved them both, but they frightened him. Greatly.

"My big sister's name is Katyusha. She's…nice, but not very strong. She was like a mother to me for a while, though, so I guess I'm thankful." Yao looked like he wanted to ask something, but Ivan hurried and continued speaking to not allow him the chance. "Then there's my younger sister, Natalya. She's, uh…" Ivan scratched the back of his head uncertainly, searching for the right words. "She's…interesting. She's very pretty, but really…weird. Does that make sense?"

Yao shook his head. "Not really-aru."

Ivan laughed nervously to himself. He honestly felt as though she were going to burst through the door any second, and he glanced around to make sure she wasn't lurking in a corner somewhere. "I love them both, but they're…well, let's just say I wasn't _too_ upset when they moved away."

Yao nodded in understanding.

"Yao, do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Yao stopped moving. It was as though the question literally petrified the man, and Ivan resituated himself to watch Yao with worried eyes. "Yao-Yao?"

"I…" the Chinaman gulped, rubbing his arm slowly with his eyes on the floor. "I…don't really want to talk about it-aru."

Ivan wanted to press the matter further, to find out what was bothering Yao so much, but he didn't. He recognized that look. It wasn't the same way Ivan dealt with his insecurities, but he could immediately tell Yao was deeply affected by this topic. Instead, he changed the subject lightly.

"Yao-Yao, I really like sunflowers."

Yao nodded slowly. "You've told me that already-aru."

Ivan smiled and reached out his hand for Yao to take. When he did, Ivan guided him up on the couch once more, and sighed in comfort as the Asian leaned carefully against him. His eyes slid closed peacefully as he listened to the sound of their breathing. "Yao-Yao, when spring comes, we should go and look at the sunflowers together."

Ivan felt as Yao melted into his touch at long last, his head resting on the Russian's broad chest as he thought. Ivan opened one eye to peek at the man, and a huge rush of warmth rushed over him at the sight.

Yao was smiling, if only slightly, as he looked up into Ivan's face. His brown eyes shone with the smallest hint of joy as he replied quietly, "I'd love that."

* * *

**Ура!** **_(Russian) (phon. "Ura"): Yay!_**

_...These dorks should be thrown in yaoi jail for being so adorable. Just saying._


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**Yao**

"_I am drowning in negativism, self-hate, doubt, madness - and even I am not strong enough to deny the routine, the rote, to simplify. No, I go plodding on, afraid that the blank hell in back of my eyes will break through, spewing forth like a dark pestilence; afraid that the disease which eats away the pith of my body with merciless impersonality will break forth in obvious sores and warts, screaming "Traitor, sinner, imposter."  
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath_

That night wasn't easy for Yao.

First, there was Ivan's insistence that they shared the bed. Which really was small. He hadn't lied about that.

After helping Ivan under the apartment-provided covers (nearly everything not art-related in his home was apartment property), he slid in himself. As far on the edge as he could. Which still wasn't that far from the person sharing the space with him.

Then Ivan had - with his inhuman, one-armed strength - reached out and pulled him back until he was against the Russian's chest.

"It's cold, Yao-Yao," Ivan murmured into his hair.

Shivering for more than one reason, Yao replied, "I think I have an extra blanket somewhere-aru. Do you want me to get it for you?" He attempted to struggle free, only to be held tighter.

"Нет. I thought you must be cold. You were shaking."

Was he? He hadn't even realized. Perhaps being poor had made him desensitized to the cold? Yao couldn't deny it was much warmer next to Ivan. He shook his head slightly.

"I'm fine, Ivan." Lie. He'd never been fine.

Ivan giggled. "Then stay, anyway. Extra warmth is good, да?" Not giving him a chance to reply, Ivan's next words were more solemn. "Yao-Yao, why are you not happy?"

Yao stiffened. This had been bound to come up eventually, he knew, but he wasn't ready. He'd never be ready. "I am happy-aru." Lie.

"But you always seem so sad, Yao."

"I'm alright, Ivan. Really. You don't have to worry about me, I'm fine." Another lie. It was too easy, Yao thought, the lying. False words flowed smoothly as he spoke them, "I guess I'm just not that good at expressing happiness?" A small, fake laugh made its way past his lips.

Ivan fell silent, but his arm tightened against Yao's abdomen.

The second issue Yao had with that night was himself.

Long after Ivan's breathing had slowed and his hold had relaxed - he hadn't moved for fear of waking the injured man - Yao's mind had refused to let him rest. Terrible words ran circles around his brain, warning him not to give in and telling him exactly why he didn't have a chance at love.

_No one wants you._

_You're pathetic._

_You've never been loved._

_You'll never be successful at anything you do._

_Look in a mirror. See how horrible you are._

_Useless._

_Unwanted. _

_Liar._

_Burden._

_Failure._

_He doesn't know you._

_He doesn't know how stupid you are._

_How ugly._

_How pointless your existence is._

_Just wait until he finds out. You'll see._

_Even he will hate you._

Yao's shoulders shook with unshed tears. Ivan's left arm was draped over him comfortingly, but that only made him feel worse.

Yao got no sleep that night.

..

Sunlight streamed through Yao's dusty, spotted window. He cracked open his dark eyes, feeling Ivan - still sleeping - behind him. Carefully, he inched away from the Russian until he was out of his reach and off the bed; he barely caught himself before he fell off, anticipating more room than what he had.

With cautious steps, Yao snuck out of the bedroom and to his small bathroom. He brushed his teeth quickly, then ran a brush through his long hair; it wasn't nearly so tangled anymore, as he'd gotten time to work through it over the past week or so.

Then he looked in the mirror.

He was pale, with dark circles outlining his eyes like he were some kind of panda - but not nearly as cute. Despite having been brushed, his hair still seemed untidy.

He looked so tired. So unimaginably tired. And he was. Not just in body - though he was beyond exhausted - but also in spirit.

He felt tainted, too. He had broken every rule about friendship by loving Ivan. As a friend, Yao might have had a chance. With his situation, however, he was doomed to fail. He got close to _one person _and he had the stupidity to fall in love.

_Really, Yao, you ought to know better. Naughty boy, Yao. Incorrigible._

He was disgusting, feeling like that. Dirty. He claimed to be a friend, but was secretly hoping for so much more. Ivan didn't know. Ivan could never know. But that made Yao a liar. Which tainted him more. It was a never-ending cycle of pain and self-loathing.

Yao admitted he hated himself. He admitted it was a problem. Another one of his flaws.

But he was right for doing so.

Yao was a generally contemptible person without a good income, talent, or even a purpose for living. Yao wanted to die. He just couldn't, because he was too much of a coward.

On some of his better days, he wanted to lie down and give up. On some of his worse days he prayed for some freak accident to occur just to put an end to his pitiful life.

Sometimes he considered causing that accident himself, but he never actually did. He only fantasized about it, then cried out in fear at the thought.

_Coward Yao._

This was a side of him no one could ever see. The hating, doubting, scared, depressed side. If anyone got to know this Yao, he knew it would drive them away like nothing else. People didn't want friends like that. They wanted cheerful, funny, _okay _friends who didn't wish for their own deaths.

_Outcast Yao._

He was lonely. So lonely it pierced him to his soul. Having Ivan around didn't help much. Sometimes, he made it worse. Obviously, Ivan couldn't find that out.

So Yao lied.

And lied.

And lied.

And lied.

And lied until it was so natural he didn't even have to think before doing it.

Because that's who he was.

_Bad Yao._

_Useless Yao._

_Dirty Yao._

_Hateful Yao_

_Tired Yao._

_Scared Yao._

_Skeptic Yao._

_Lonely Yao._

_Sad Yao._

_Liar Yao._

_Pathetic Yao._

_Yao Wang, the miserable wretch from China trying in vain to become an artist._

_Yeah, that Yao._

_The nobody._

...

"Yao-Yao?" Ivan's voice yawned from the other room. No doubt he was reaching out tiredly, trying to search out the other's warmth. It was freezing that morning.

Having just gotten out of the shower, Yao called back, "In here, Ivan-aru! I'll be out in a bit!"

After towel-drying his wet hair, Yao got dressed and gazed back into his now-clouded mirror.

He still looked tired, broken, and depressed, but he was also soaked and appeared a good deal more awake than he had before.

He'd called the school again the day before he'd picked up Ivan. They'd then promised to mail him (as he didn't have a computer or smartphone for e-mail) his school-work and lesson contents so he could stay caught up while being around to take care of Ivan. They said they could do the same for Ivan, who also wouldn't be back to the college for a while. Yao was still on his paid vacation for work. He never really used his vacation days, anyway.

Yao decided against tying his hair back. It was still dripping wet despite his stubborn attempts to wring it out and dry it. Plus, if Ivan was going to be living with him for a while he'd have to get used to Yao not always looking his best. Not that he did that usually. But still.

He blinked at his reflection. He really had to do something about his face.

Ivan was right; he did look sad. Staring into the misty glass, Yao smiled. It didn't look right. He smiled again. Better.

Yao practiced his smile until it was perfect.

When he rejoined Ivan in his small bedroom, it was with a bright grin lighting up his face.

_Yao the Eccedentesiast._

_Yao the Liar._

* * *

_Now you're probably wondering: what IS that word, in the second to last sentence? Well, eccedentesiast is a noun describing someone who fakes a smile. I found it while reading a Spamano fanfic that is WAY more depressing than this thing. Anyway, even though some sites and stuff deny it is a word, it is. Said sites are just stupid. Look it up._

_Back on topic. So in this chapter, Yao has pointedly repeated several things he's thought throughout the story. I know it's probably getting old, but I just wanted to show the truth of how depression works. It doesn't make sense (you could have the greatest life in the world and still self-hate) and you don't come up with a new reason for loathing your own existence every day. It's always the same things, over and over. Even when you know, logically, that people do like you and care for you, depression still says "No. You're horrible. No one will ever love you." That's how it works, and I'm glad I'm able to portray that in this fic. Just so people know. I hope you guys remember this if you know someone who is depressed. It might help._

_All that said, I'm out! Ciao-ciao! ~K-the-Robin-Lord _


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**Ivan**

"_I am intrigued by the smile upon your face, and the sadness within your eyes"  
― Jeremy Aldana_

When Ivan awoke that morning, it was to cold sunlight and a feeling of emptiness.

He opened his eyes, tired but awake, and the first thing he'd noticed was that Yao was nowhere to be seen. The second thing was that he was freezing. Almost by instinct, Ivan pulled his scarf up over his mouth and tried to bury into its warmth, but to no avail. It was just _cold_.

Sitting up, Ivan looked around once more for any sign of the Chinese man. Not seeing him anywhere, he called out, "Yao-Yao?"

The responding call of "In here, Ivan-aru! I'll be out in a bit!" came a few moments later. Ivan rubbed his arms to try and warm himself up as his thoughts drifted back to last night.

It had been painfully obvious Yao was lying about being happy. Ivan may not be able to read the Asian as easily as he could other people, but he could still usually tell when Yao was giving him a lie instead of the truth. For whatever reason, Yao felt like he was suffocating in his own skin. It was a feeling that wasn't unfamiliar to the Russian, but that only made him worry more. He didn't like seeing Yao depressed.

Ivan moved to the edge of the tiny bed, away from the window. Last night had been the first night since his sisters moved away that he had shared with another person. He was nervous the entire time, not that he would ever show it; he wasn't used to being so close to another person, even if he _had_ been constantly forcing Yao to sit against him throughout the day. At night, though, it was different. There had been someone else besides the company of his thoughts, then. Yao had both diminished and strengthened his inner voices, and he worried about what they had said. The thoughts Yao's presence had pushed aside were mainly ones of loneliness and his typical hatred of people. However, he was given new things to worry about.

Such as whether Yao liked him or not.

Part of him wondered if Yao was only being this kind because he felt guilty for the accident. It was obvious Yao would not be forgiving himself for that anytime soon, despite the Russian's insistence there was nothing to worry about. Ivan figured it wouldn't be that difficult to disguise guilt for a kind of reluctant acceptance, but if Yao was doing that to him...he wasn't sure if he'd be able to take it. When he was back to normal, would Yao never want anything else to do with him? Would the Asian kick him out immediately, demanding he never speak to him again? Ivan doubted there would be such extremities - it wasn't Yao's style - but something similar could happen. And if it did, Ivan feared it would break the last reserve of trust he had left.

He had allowed himself to get too close.

He had broken down his walls, to allow Yao into his life.

He had put all his trust into this man.

He had fallen in love.

If Yao betrayed him, Ivan would...well, he'd break. He was a cracked glass sitting on the edge of a counter, above a hardwood floor, and the simplest words could push him over. And if he fell, he'd shatter, and he'd never piece himself back together.

_Not the brightest thoughts to wake up to, exactly._

Ivan reached for the crutch sitting beside the bed, and with its support, pushed himself up into a standing position. He went to take a step, but his legs were too shaky, and he almost ended up crashing. Instead, he turned and leaned against the wall, trying to get his bearings. Apparently yesterday's walk had affected him more than he thought it had. He wasn't used to feeling so _weak! _ It was infuriating, so with a surge of willpower, Ivan forced himself upright again and began moving towards the living room. He spotted his coat lying draped over the arm of the couch, and with a great deal of one-armed effort, put it on, succumbing to the warmth of the soft lining within. Feeling better, he sat down and allowed his attention to wander, until his eyes rested on that painting again.

Something about it fascinated him. From the strokes of the brush to just the way it was hung by the window, Ivan wanted nothing more than to know the story behind the artwork. What had Yao been thinking, feeling? Who was the man in the center of the heather field? …What was its title?

Yao's head popped up from around a corner, and upon seeing Ivan, he gave him a wide smile. Ivan blinked; Yao looked really happy. He looked exhausted, but the look on his face said he didn't even recognize it, that he was simply in a wonderful mood. Compared to the Yao from last night…"Yao?"

Yao grinned as he sat down beside Ivan with a flop. The couched groaned in protest at the weight, but neither man paid it any heed. "Good morning, Ivan! Did you sleep well?"

Ivan was practically at a loss for words. Yao's complete personality switch threw him off guard, and so he could only reply, "I…yes? I suppose?"

Yao nodded. "That's good to hear-aru. Sorry it's so cold. This isn't the best place to live, but, oh well!"

"It's…still better than my house at the moment, да?" Ivan chuckled somewhat nervously, not meeting the Asian's eyes. Something was off, but Ivan didn't know what had happened between last night and this morning. Hesitantly, he asked, "Ah…Yao, are you…okay?"

Yao's smile faltered for a fraction of a second as he gaze Ivan an inquisitive stare. "What do you mean-aru? Today's going to be a great day!"

"And, um…why's that?"

Yao held up three fingers with that smile still plastered on his face. "First," he started, looking up into Ivan's eyes, "I have no school today. It's Saturday."

Ivan nodded for Yao to continue.

"Second, I'm still on vacation, so I don't have to work-aru. And third, I get to spend the day with my friend!"

Ivan felt as though someone squeezed his heart out of nowhere. "Ah…and who is this friend?"

Yao laughed and gave him an incredulous look. "Ivan, it's you, silly!"

Ivan felt his heart pang for an entirely different reason.

Still oddly smiling, Yao leaned over and leaned against the Russian's shoulder, craning his neck to look up at the other's face. "So, Ivan, is there anything you want to do today?"

Ivan fidgeted uncomfortably, trying not to blush as he looked away from Yao's upside-down face. His eyes wandered over to the heather painting, and with a quiet voice, he asked, "Can you teach me to paint?"

* * *

_Sorry for the long wait! My family and I went on vacation and I hadn't gotten around to updating this story. Thanks for your patience!_


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Yao**

_Living a lie – pretending everything is fine when we are actually discontented – is hard work and, in the long run, even bad for our health. We pay a high price for compromising on this honesty – and neglecting ourselves." ― Kristiane Backer, From MTV to Mecca: How Islam Inspired My Life_

The question caught him off guard.

Him? Ivan wanted _Yao _to teach him to paint? _Him?_ Thinking logically, Yao understood Ivan didn't know any other painters and-as a foreigner to the art world-thought Yao was skilled.

Oh, how wrong he was.

But all that left another question: why was Ivan even asking this?

"What brought this up-aru?" he asked, voicing his curiosity with a fake grin still on his face. If hurt, to smile like that, but he persisted. Ivan couldn't know that other side of him. He'd gotten far too close before. Yao wouldn't let him get further.

Ivan shrugged, looking uncertain. "I just thought it would be interesting to learn, I guess." He gave the Asian a smile of his own.

Yao's heart thudded painfully in his chest, an aching reminder of how close he was and how beautiful Ivan's eyes were and how much he loved that smile and how he was a _liar_ _liar liar liar_-

"Is that so-aru?" Yao turned his face thoughtful. "Well, I could teach you...but I'm not the best. And I've never tried to _teach _anything-aru."

"That's fine, Yao-Yao!" Ivan replied, a strange softness to his voice. "I don't need special instruction. And besides," he added encouragingly, "I think you're a great artist."

Yao blushed and felt a rush of self-loathing (_I'm not that good I'm not I'm terrible_), but forced his smile to remain. "Well, thank you-aru! I could...I could try to teach you, if you really want. I assume you mean 'paint pictures' and not 'paint abstracts'-aru?"

Ivan hesitated slightly, though out of surprise or musing Yao couldn't tell. When he spoke again, it was with an odd tone Yao couldn't place. "Да, pictures should work. I hadn't thought about abstract, though..."

Yao let out a laugh. "Not many people do-aru. But anyway, I don't think I could teach you. Abstracts are...they're a reflection of the heart-aru. They show the color of your soul. You can't teach that." Suddenly self-conscious, Yao glanced up at Ivan. "Does...does that make sense-aru?"

A look of quiet shock swept over the Russian's face. "Yao-Yao...I didn't know you could talk like that! You sound like an art professor!" he said eagerly. Yao felt his cheeks grow hot.

"I-it's just what I learned in art class-aru..."

Ivan giggled. "That's not what it sounded like, Yao-Yao," he teased.

Clearing his throat loudly, the smaller man concealed his blush with his fist. "A-anyway! So what do you want the subject of your painting to be-aru? I find I learn best hands-on, so I think we should start there. With something simple, of course-aru."

Ivan tapped his finger against his chin thoughtfully. "Well...what do you suggest, Yao?"

Smiling painfully, Yao replied, "Some of my earliest paintings were of pandas, if that helps."

...

Digging through his closet, Yao retrieved the painting he was looking for. One glance at it, however, had him rethinking the whole idea.

_'Oh my God, this is so horrible!' _he groaned inwardly. _'I can't show this to Ivan!'_

It was one of his pandas, shown sitting idly in a bamboo forest - and it was, in Yao's opinion, an absolute tragedy. The anatomy was off. The shading clashed. That forest _definitely _wasn't drawn right.

He remembered his middle school art tutor praising this artwork. He couldn't imagine why.

Still, it was one of his earlier works and that was the goal. But having Ivan learn from a bad piece? That didn't seem right. So, Yao continued digging through the sea of art he'd taken from the walls until he picked up another. It had a similar subject, but the panda was one in a zoo instead of a forest. There was a cub resting a few feet off, and the railings of the exhibit were visible.

Upon closer inspection, it was trash.

Yao sighed, going back to his pile. Wasn't there anything here that was decent?

"Yao-Yao?" Ivan called from the couch. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, Ivan!" Yao replied, forcing himself to sound cheerful. "Just trying to find a good reference-aru!"

"Do you need help?"

"No, I'll be fine!" he answered, inwardly begging Ivan not to come. He didn't want his friend to see this mess.

_'What do I do? What do I do?' _Yao ran a nervous hand through his dark hair. _'He can't see any of these, but he needs a reference! Why, _why_ did he have to ask me to teach him to _paint _of all things?!'_

"Yao-Yao!" Ivan half-sang from the other room.

"What is it-aru?" Yao called back, hoping Ivan wasn't going to ask how the search was going again.

"There's a painting of a panda on the wall here! Can't we use it as a reference?"

Yao smacked himself lightly in the forehead. Of course! Ivan had even commented on that painting when he'd entered the apartment. "R-right-aru! I forgot!"

Standing, he closed his closet door and made the short walk back to the apartment's main room. There sat Ivan, leaning idly on the arm of the couch. Yao made himself smile like he was eager to get started. Then, he strode over to the corner of the room, where his art supplies were - as always - strewn about in a sort of ordered chaos. With familiarity, he lifted his easel and brought it over to the couch where Ivan waited. He made several more trips back and forth, gathering his paints, brushes, and a spare canvas; at the rate this was going, he'd be without food for a day or so - canvases were so _expensive_! - but it was worth it to give Ivan a better opinion of him.

"Here we are!" he said brightly as he placed the last box of paints on the floor. He then moved to sit next to Ivan, making sure the reference painting was in clear view. He grabbed the coffee table in front of the couch and pulled it closer so the rest of the supplies were in east reach. He handed Ivan a brush.

"So where do I start, Yao-Yao?" Ivan asked, holding the foreign object.

"Um…okay. So how familiar are you with pandas-aru?" Yao began, unused to being in a teaching role.

Ivan shrugged. "Not that much. There weren't pandas in Russia."

Yao forced himself to laugh. It hurt. "Okay, then. Since it's your first real painting, I'll make it easier for you." He took hold of the canvas and snatched a pencil from nearby. "I'm just going to do a quick sketch for you to use as a base for your painting-aru," he explained, holding the canvas close and tucking his legs in.

Looking up every now and then at the reference, Yao lightly sketched out the panda's outline. It didn't look entirely accurate, but he doubted Ivan would notice. Yao did, though. He did, and it tore him apart with its imperfection. Nothing ever looked right when he drew it. Nothing.

"Here-aru!" Yao smiled, handing off the canvas. "You can use this to get the anatomy right."

Ivan looked at Yao. "That was really fast, Yao-Yao."

"Just a sketch!" the Asian responded, dismissing the other's surprise with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, should we get started-aru?"

Ivan hesitated, giving Yao a strange look.

"Is something wrong, Ivan?"

"No...it's nothing, Yao," he answered, turning his eyes back to the canvas.

_'Aren't you happy, Ivan? I'm being cheerful. I'm being okay. That should make you happy. No one wants a sad friend. So why, then? Why aren't you smiling?'_

...

Yao soon found that teaching wasn't that easy, especially teaching art.

It was difficult to instruct someone on how to properly shade, color, and outline. Especially when, as the instructor, he wasn't an expert himself.

Then there was that other thing.

Sometimes, to demonstrate how a particular stroke should be made, Yao had to guide Ivan's brush across the canvas. Which meant holding that hand of the one he secretly loved - while acting like nothing was wrong.

It was very nearly impossible to smile throughout it all, but he did. He smiled.

"Is that it?" Ivan asked from beside him, running his violet eyes over his painting. It was a good first artwork, though Yao could find many flaws. That didn't bother him at all, though. Not like his own did. Especially when Ivan was painting with his non-dominant hand. He was impossible.

"I think so-aru," he replied, nodding. "Good job, Ivan! With your left arm, too...I'm jealous!" He wrapped his arms around the Russian in a light hug.

Ivan stiffened slightly in shock - Yao could see his sudden personality change being surprising - but didn't shy away from the contact.

Yao wanted to.

Placing his brush back on the table, Ivan's eyes slid onto his companion's face. In response, Yao looked away; instead, he took the paper towel and used it to wipe some of the paint off Ivan's hand.

"That's the problem with painting-aru...so messy!" Yao laughed, his dark eyes still focused on the Russian's hand. When he'd done all he could, he moved onto the next one.

Ivan spoke. "Yao-Yao...are you sure you're okay?"

"What do you mean, Ivan?" Yao asked, knowing full well the answer. _'Why can't you just be happy, Ivan? I'm smiling for you. Be happy with it, please. I can't afford to break in front of you.'_

"Ever since this morning," Yao could feel Ivan's violet eyes upon him, "you have been acting strangely. I am glad you are happy, but I'm worried for you. You changed so suddenly...what happened, Yao?"

Yao refused to show nervousness, instead forcing another laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about-aru! I just feel good today."

"Yao."

"Hm?" Yao's heart thundered in his chest - what if Ivan heard it? - when he heard the disbelieving tone.

"Look at me, Yao."

Reluctantly, Yao raised his head.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**Ivan**

"_It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being."_

― _John Joseph Powell, __The Secret of Staying in Love_

Painting was hard, especially when using your non-dominant hand. That was Ivan's conclusion when he sat back and surveyed the finished product. It was nowhere near as beautiful as Yao's, but the Russian hardly cared. Instead, he was preoccupied with Yao's behavior throughout the lesson.

Whenever the two seemed to get in close proximity, the bright smile Yao had been wearing all the while would falter, though just for a fraction of a second. And Yao was constantly guiding his hand or giving him hugs when he did something right which – though not disliked by any means – was something Yao had never seemed keen to do before. And the never-ending bright smiles, the sudden friendliness…everything about this morning was _weird_, somehow, and Ivan didn't like it.

So when Yao hugged Ivan to congratulate him on his first completed painting, Ivan tried to meet his eyes, his face drawn with concern. "Yao-Yao...are you sure you're okay?" he asked, watching the Asian closely for any reaction.

"What do you mean, Ivan?" Yao replied, still attempting a pleased tone. However, Ivan thought he heard his voice waver slightly. The Chinese man was no longer looking at him, and was instead busying himself with cleaning the paint from Ivan's hands. He paid no attention, however, refusing to move his gaze away from the other's form.

"Ever since this morning, you have been acting strangely. I am glad you are happy, but I'm worried for you. You changed so suddenly..." Ivan started to trail off, recalling the conversation last night. "…What happened, Yao?"

Yao laughed, a forced, sad sound. "I don't know what you're talking about-aru! I just feel good today."

"Yao."

"Hm?"

"Look at me, Yao."

The Asian seemed hesitant, but reluctantly responded, lifting his eyes to meet Ivan's. Ivan gave Yao a hard stare as he studied Yao's face. That smile was still in place, although smaller – and Ivan's gaze narrowed. He removed the paper towel from Yao's hands (the paint on the Russian's was dried anyway, and wouldn't come off without water) and stood to his feet slowly, where he could stand above the Asian. Ivan looked down at Yao's face, his expression somber.

"Yao, why are you lying to me?"

In that instant, Yao seemed to freeze. He tried to hide it with another choked laugh and a dismissal, but it didn't work. Not on Ivan.

"Yao, why do you feel you need to lie to me?"

Still no answer. Yao tried to avert his eyes, but Ivan moved the Asian's head back so their eyes locked once more. Ivan felt a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, and his heart was burning again, and he finally asked the question that might make or break him. "Yao…do you want me to leave?"

Yao froze, and panic stirred in his eyes. Ivan felt a part of him crack inside. So it was true. Yao didn't like him, he was just pretending to be nice until Ivan could get better and get out of his life. Ivan took a shaky step back, reaching behind him for his crutch. Yao looked like he wanted to speak but couldn't, which was fine by Ivan. He didn't need to hear more unwelcome words.

Slowly, Ivan hobbled towards the door away from Yao, his head hung down. The Asian turned just enough to watch, his eyes still overflowing with emotion. At least that smile was gone now. After all, it had only ever been a fake anyway.

It was never for him.

Ivan opened the door and walked only a few steps outside before he heard footsteps following him. A thin hand grabbed onto Ivan's cast lightly.

"Ivan," Yao pleaded, sounding as though his voice was breaking, "Ivan, please, wait. You don't understand, please…"

Ivan spun around as fiercely as he could while on crutches and sent him a cold glare. "I don't understand, Yao? Да, you're right. I don't understand." Ivan didn't know what he was saying, but the agonizing burn of betrayal in his chest prodded him forward, demanding redemption, so he didn't try to stop himself. "I thought we were friends, Yao. I really thought – I _trusted you._ I trusted you!"

Yao shrunk back under the verbal assault, but Ivan wasn't done yet. "You're just like the rest of them. I thought you were different, but apparently I was wrong!" Ivan threw his left hand up in the air in a show of frustration. "I was a fool to ever believe you'd want to be friends with me. Don't worry, Yao. I won't make that same mistake again." With a frigid resolve, Ivan turned once more away from Yao and began walking, yet Yao still followed after him. The Asian pushed to get in front of the Russian, effectively blocking his path, which angered the Russian further.

"Please, Ivan. Just…let me talk to you-aru. Just give me five minutes, please, please!"

Ivan wanted to refuse, to not give him the chance to twist the knife further, but a single look at Yao's pleading, panicked eyes made him back down. With a slightly calmer voice, Ivan said, "Fine. Five minutes, Yao."

Yao carefully led the limping man back inside the apartment, and when both men were inside, closed the door with a soft 'click'. Ivan didn't go sit on the couch, didn't move away from the door. Yao turned to face him, taking in a deep breath most likely to brace himself for what was coming next. "Ivan, do you remember, at the hospital…?"

Of course Ivan remembered. _The comfort of_ _Yao's hand, Yao was okay, he's just like me, a kiss, curled up in the warmth of a patched scarf-_ Ivan's eyes narrowed, and Yao took that as his answer.

"When I said I wanted to…to stay with you, I…" Yao gulped, but he didn't look away. "…I meant it."

Ivan's heart fluttered, begging him to forget this even happened, to take Yao's hand and tell him he forgave him, but several years' worth of distrust and pain held him back. "Give me one reason why I should believe you."

Yao's eyes flashed with hurt, but he nodded regardless. He reached forward and took hold of Ivan's hand, despite the crutch. Ivan flinched at the contact, but he didn't move away. Slowly, Yao raised their hands to Ivan's face, and violet eyes met brown, and for a moment, there was nothing. The anger and fear and confusion washed away, and there were only them, and the warmth of Yao's hand against Ivan's face. Then, Yao leaned forward and nervously placed his lips upon Ivan's.

The kiss was short and one-sided, and Yao pulled away with his eyes downcast, his hand falling from the Russian's cheek and resting on his chest, above his heart. Ivan felt numb, yet completely alive – his heart racing, his mind spinning – and for a few seconds he was unable to move. Yao's breathing was quiet and unsteady, and taking Ivan's silence as a rejection, he closed his eyes. "I just…you deserve the truth. You can hate me if you want, but I-"

Yao was cut off as Ivan yanked him forward, pressing their mouths together with uncharacteristic desperation. Yao was, at first, too stunned to respond, but he quickly got over it and followed Ivan's example. Ivan's hand traveled up to Yao's neck as he deepened the kiss, and his crutch fell to the floor with a clatter, but he didn't notice.

Eventually, they pulled apart, panting as they attempted to regain their breath. They rested their foreheads together, and Ivan couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. Being like this, holding Yao, kissing Yao, it was making him go crazy. Despite everything, despite the anger and pain that had consumed him not moments before, Ivan was unable to feel anything but affection for this man. He moved in for a third kiss, although it was much calmer and more affectionate. Yao looked up into Ivan's eyes, searching probably for an answer to the multitude of questions he had.

"Ivan…?"

"Yao, I love you."

Yao froze in shock, and Ivan's smile slipped from his face as he moved back to where he could see the Asian's face completely.

"Yao, I think I might have loved you since the moment I saw you. I wasn't sure of it then, but now, I…" Ivan trailed off, searching for the right words. "I love you, Yao, with whatever's left of me. I don't deserve you. You're such a wonderful person, and I don't know how you couldn't know that, because it's written in every fiber of your being."

Yao shook his head furiously, his hands on Ivan's arms. "No-aru! I'm not wonderful. I'm a failure. I can't paint, I couldn't be there for my brothers and sisters…" the Asian shuddered as a tear fell from his eye. His fists curled up in Ivan's coat, and he hid his face in the beige fabric, his shoulders shaking. "And I lied to you. So many times I lied to you, and even after I almost killed you, I still lied…Ivan, how can you call that wonderful?"

Ivan wrapped a steady arm around Yao's back, rubbing circles into it as he tried to comfort the smaller man. He rested his chin on the top of Yao's head and stared forward, though not truly looking at anything in particular.

"Yao, was that kiss a lie?"

Hesitation, then a shake of the head. "No."

"Then I don't care."

And Yao broke out sobbing, crying tears that had been held back for years upon years, tears of pain and fear and loneliness and relief. And Ivan was there to hold him all the while.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**Yao**

"_To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget."  
― Arundhati Roy, The Cost of Living_

Yao couldn't hold it in any longer. His eyes overflowed, tears falling in waves. He fell to his knees, Ivan following him and holding him close.

"I-Ivan...I..." Yao choked out, sobbing into Ivan's chest. The other tightened his one-armed hold, laying his head on the Asian's shoulder.

"Yao, shh...It's okay..." Ivan whispered. "It's okay..."

Yao wanted to stop crying, to be able to look Ivan in the eyes and tell him everything from start to finish. He wanted to tell Ivan why he lied, why he closed himself off so many times. To tell Ivan it was always, always out of love.

Because he loved the violet-eyed man. And Ivan loved him in return.

All the emotion, all the hurt he'd endured for years unspoken, came rushing out of him in a torrent.

_Yao, look after your brothers and sisters. Promise me._

His mother, on her death bed. A broken promise.

_We are not brothers. I don't want to see you again, Yao._

Kiku, when Yao had been stupid enough to confront him. An honest betrayal.

_Could you...go now?_

His siblings, who had wanted nothing more than to see him gone. A painful goodbye.

_This isn't what we're looking for. Maybe you should try somewhere else._

The art director, turning him away. A dismissal many times repeated.

_You're pathetic, useless, ugly, horrible, stupid, Yao. Nobody._

Himself, every second of every day. Truthful self-hate.

_Why are you lying to me, Yao? We're friends, да?_

Ivan, at the tea shop after Kiku's visit. The precursor to a terrible realization.

_I'm glad you're not hurt, Yao-Yao._

Ivan, after the car crash. Deadly guilt.

_Yao-Yao, this is beautiful!...You're a really skilled artist!_

Ivan, seeing Yao's paintings. Hurtful ignorance.

_But you always seem so sad, Yao._

Ivan, the night before.

_Yao-Yao...are you sure you're okay?_

Ivan, a mere hour before.

_Look at me, Yao._

Ivan.

_Yao, why are you lying to me?_

Ivan.

_Yao, do you want me to leave?_

Ivan.

_I was a fool to ever believe you wanted to be friends with me._

Ivan.

_Give me one reason why I should believe you._

_Yao, I love you._

Yao let out a strangled gasp, trembling violently as more tears flowed down his cheeks. Still Ivan held him, rocking him slightly back and forth and whispering softly in his ear. He loved this man. Loved him more than he loved himself. Way more. He didn't deserve such a kind, understanding, perfect person. Ivan could have done so much better, yet he chose to love Yao.

The failed brother.

The tragic artist.

The nobody.

The nothing.

Wonderful Ivan Braginski had fallen in love with broken Yao Wang.

...

Yao didn't know how long he sat there with Ivan, crying his heart out in his love's embrace.

Hours, he thought. An eternity. But eventually the tears slowed and he regained control of his breathing.

"Ivan..." he murmured, his fingers curling into the taller man's coat.

He heard Ivan reply, "It's okay, Yao. You don't have to say anything. I understand."

"No," Yao shook his head, still shivering slightly. "I need to tell you-aru." He tightened his grip on the fabric. "I love you, Ivan. I love you so much it hurts."

He drew a shuddering breath, "When I...when I started avoiding you, that was because I thought you'd be better off without me. I'm not used to having friends, and when I fell in love with you I thought I'd messed up. I didn't want to get too close. I didn't want to drag you down. I'm sorry-aru..." He almost started crying again.

"Yao..." Ivan said quietly, running his left hand gently down Yao's back. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I know, I know!" Yao despaired, burying his face in the cloth of Ivan's shoulder. "I'm stupid-aru! If I had just _said _something, I wouldn't have hurt you! Wo hèn wo zìji! I hate myself! I don't deserve you!"

"Yao. Don't say that."

"Huh?" Yao froze, not understanding.

"You shouldn't hate yourself, Yao," Ivan replied in all seriousness, "You're not stupid. I love you. I wouldn't say that to someone who deserved to be hated. I always thought you were better than me. I don't know how to show you how much you're really worth, but I can tell you it's so much more than me. I love you, Yao. I really do."

"You don't know...you don't know..." Yao trailed off. For once, he couldn't find the words to describe himself. Repositioning himself to lean into Ivan, he sighed. "When I was...fourteen, my mother died of sickness. My father had left long before, so she was all we had-aru. Without her, it was just the seven of us siblings. I was the oldest, so I took care of them when she was gone.

"She...she made me promise to take care of them-aru. I failed her, Ivan...I failed her... They wanted nothing to do with me! They were just fine on their own. They didn't need me. Not even Kiku. Especially not Kiku," I paused, breathing deeply.

"Yao...you don't have to talk about this, if you don't want. I can tell it hurts you," Ivan told him in a consoling tone, though Yao knew he was desperate for more information. He hadn't missed the probing looks or the deep curiosity Ivan had tried to mask when he'd ask questions about the Asian's life.

Yao shook his head, relaxing his muscles tiredly. "You should know what you're getting into-aru. If you...want to be with me, that is..."

"I want to be with you, Yao." No hesitation.

"Okay... Thank you... So...I thought I was a great brother. I thought I was doing a good job. Then I opened my eyes. I saw my siblings weren't...happy. Kiku most of all. So I confronted him about it, and it...it didn't go well-aru. He told me...he told me he wasn't my brother anymore. He hates me, Ivan. He didn't want to look at me. He changed his last name to Honda and moved to Japan.

"So I went to my other siblings. Turns out they all thought the same thing-aru. So I left. I came to America so they wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. That's when I started painting. It helped me get through my pain." Playing idly with his sleeve, he continued, "Then I decided I loved painting, and wanted to make a career out of it. I practiced all the time until I thought I was ready. I started entering my art for contests and galleries. I got in a few times, but never for anything big. I was just average. I was never that good. Look around-aru. These paintings, none of them stand a chance. To the world, they're garbage. To me, they're...me."

It was so strange for him, speaking all these thoughts out loud. He'd held them in for so long, to tell someone was indescribable.

"To the world," he repeated, "_I'm _garbage."

Yao held his breath as he waited for Ivan's reply. A voice in the back of his head yelled at him, scolding him for ever opening his mouth. It scolded him for existing, too. Another voice chimed in, telling Yao it was over. Ivan knew, now he'd leave. It was inevitable. Pathetic, Yao, pathetic.

Still another, quieter voice said it was alright. Ivan would understand. Ivan loved him. Love was something imperfection couldn't destroy. Love couldn't be broken.

Right?

When Ivan spoke again, his voice was subdued. "Yao, I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Yao's heart thundered in his ears as his body grew tense. Two of his three voices were laughing. _I told you so..._

Ivan stiffened too. He cried out, "No! Yao, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that! Пожалуйста, прости меня! I meant that I'm sorry I was insensitive! Not... Oh Бог, Yao, I'm sorry... I love you... Forgive me?" He ended his rambling with a cringe, sounding worried. Yao let out his breath, the quiet voice telling him it was okay, that it had been right. It sounded proud and sincerely happy. That emotion felt almost foreign to him now.

"I-it's okay, Ivan... It's my fault for overreacting-aru. Sorry..." he replied, feeling weak. He let himself relax, moving yet again so he could just lie limply on his back, still with his head resting against Ivan's chest. He was so tired. He hadn't slept in days.

"You don't have to apologize, Yao," Ivan whispered, taking Yao's thin hand in his. "Thank you for telling me all this. There's...there's one thing I don't get, though."

"Hm?" Yao hummed softly, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

"Back when you played hooky with me, you were really upset. You never told me why. Do you...mind if I asked what it was about?" Ivan asked hesitantly.

Yao didn't even think before answering, "Kiku visited me-aru."

"Что?! But you said he was in Japan, да?"

"He was. But apparently, he moved to America for college or something. I didn't ask. Thankfully, he lives in a different state-aru. But he came over because Mei - she's one of my sisters - thought we should try to work things out. The others never hated me like him, they just didn't need me. But yeah, he visited me-aru. He said straight up he wouldn't apologize and I...sort of went off on him. Then I slammed the door in his face. Cried for a few minutes. Then fell asleep on the floor-aru. That's why I was late - I didn't hear my alarm go off."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Um, Ivan?" Yao stifled a yawn.

"Да?"

"Are you going to stay-aru?"

"Да."

"Good-aru."

"Yao?"

"Shì ma?"

Ivan moved his hand from Yao's to lift the other's chin so their eyes met. Ivan was smiling.

"I'm starting to think it wasn't such a bad thing I was hit by that car."

Before Yao could reply, Ivan kissed him again. There was no longer any hesitation in the gesture and, for the first time in years, Yao allowed himself to be truly happy.

…

"I'm back, Ivan-aru!" Yao called, shutting the apartment door behind him. Ivan looked up from where he lay on the couch, lifting his left arm to pick up the remote and turn off the television. A smile lit up the Russian's face.

"Welcome back, Yao-Yao!"

Setting two grocery bags on his counter, Yao put his hands on his hips. "TV-aru? You have school work!" he scolded.

Ivan laughed. "It's hard with my left hand, Yao-Yao!" he replied with a fake whine.

"No excuses! I'm getting you breakfast, then you're working. And that's final-aru."

He giggled loudly. "You sound like my big sister - on those few occasions when she decided to be firm. So I guess you sound more like a mother, Yao."

Yao blushed, but didn't reply. Instead, he focused on sifting through his groceries. "Um...I didn't buy any breakfast food-aru. Not much was on sale. So I brought up a few of those _really _small cereal boxes from downstairs. Is that okay?"

"That's fine, Yao-Yao."

Satisfied, Yao grabbed the five he'd taken with him - what was the harm in getting extra? - and (after putting away everything that needed to be refrigerated) took them to where Ivan waited.

"Take whatever-aru," Yao offered, holding the boxes out for the Russian to choose. Ivan took one, the others left on the table by the Asian, except for one he took himself.

"Do you eat breakfast like this every morning?" Ivan asked skeptically.

Yao went red. "Sh-Shì de. Often. It's...cheaper."

Ivan shook his head, smiling. Without warning, he set his cereal down, reached out, and pulled Yao close. Yao yelped in surprise, but didn't try to escape the Russian's grip.

"Love you, Yao-Yao," he grinned, nuzzling into Yao's hair.

"I love you too, Ivan."

For a moment, they just sat there, reveling in the rare happiness of being in love and having that love returned.

Yao didn't want to think about school, work, or paying rent. He didn't want to remember his mistakes or his flaws, or anything that wasn't _Ivan. _

But he did. Inevitably, he did.

His mind went over, yet again, everything wrong with him. Everything that made him a failure.

_If you hadn't been there, Ivan would be with someone better._

_Someone he deserves. _

_You always get in the way._

_Always._

_You're not good enough for him._

_You never will be._

"Yao-Yao?" Ivan's voice, accented and concerned, broke through his thoughts. _'Thank you,' _he thought gratefully. _'How did I live without you?'_

_You were alone and miserable like you should be._

"Shì ma?"

"Are you okay?" he whispered, rubbing the Asian's arm. Quickly, he added, "And please, Yao. Be honest. I want to be there for you."

Yao was silent, then quietly, hesitantly answered, "I don't know. I'm happy, being with you. But I don't think I'm...okay. Does that...make sense-aru?"

"Да. It does."

* * *

_Wo hèn wo zìji (Chinese): I hate myself_

_Пожалуйста, прости меня (Phon. Pozhaluysta, prosti menya) (Russian): Please, forgive me_

_Бог (phon. Bog) (Russian): God_

_Hey, guys! I'm so sorry for the lack of updates! But we've only got two more chapters to go, can you believe it? Things are wrapping up!_

_Also, we found a sound that we think fits this story of ours quite well...look up "Birds" by Anouk. It was in the 2013 Eurovision event, but we thought it fit this quite well ^^_

_Disclaimer: We do not own Hetalia or its characters._


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**Ivan**

_I want you to know now too,_

_That my love for you isn't just lust._

_I love you more than you'll know,_

_And from me, I hope you can trust._

_Julie Hebert_

Ivan fidgeted nervously as he waited for Yao to get back from work. It had been a few weeks since their confessions in Yao's apartment, and Ivan's arm had finally healed. He still wasn't in the best condition of his life, but he could walk without crutches and hug Yao with both arms, which was beyond enough. However, that meant he had begun living in his own house again. While he and Yao were officially dating, now, the Asian's apartment was still tiny, and he didn't need to pay for an extra mouth to feed and the like. Rather reluctantly, Ivan had moved once more into his own home, where the broken TV observed his every move and the cold air penetrated his skin. When he began to feel lonely, though, Ivan would simply raise the scarf to his face and close his eyes. The scarf held so many memories, and Ivan would finger the patched sections as he thought of Yao, and he'd fall asleep, dreaming of tomorrow when he could see his lover again.

Now, he was sitting on Yao's tattered couch (Yao had given him a key to his apartment) as he awaited the Chinese's arrival.

Today was the day. Ivan had thought this over many times already, and just the idea was making him nervous. What if Yao didn't accept him? The thought concerned him, but at the same time, he was certain it was just his mind running away with his worries. Yao had already opened up to him, and in only a few days, he had been significantly happier. Yao no longer had to fake smiles, or flinch when Ivan held him, or lie when he was feeling upset. He still had a long way to go before he was better again – he might never end up being completely whole – but that was okay. As long as Ivan and Yao had each other, they could get through anything. That's what Ivan believed, anyway.

The Russian looked up as the door opened with a small 'click' and Yao walked in. He was distracted by hanging his thin coat up on the wall, and so didn't see as Ivan leapt up from his seat and ran over to Yao. He gave the Asian a surprise hug around the middle, giggling as the other let out a squeak of surprise. "Привет, Yao-Yao! Я тебя люблю!"

Ivan could see as Yao's face burned red (it was so adorable how he always did that!) and he scrambled to find a response. "N-Ní hǎo, Ivan. What are you, ah…?"

Ivan nuzzled into Yao's hair with a smile plastered on his face. "I was waiting for Yao-Yao to get home, of course!"

Yao turned around in Ivan's hold and faced him, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Ivan," he laughed softly, "you know I always come to your place after I leave work."

"Да, but I couldn't wait today! I have something to show you."

Yao raised an eyebrow questioningly, and in response, Ivan took Yao's hand in his and tugged him gently toward the front door. "Ivan, wait, where are we going?"

Ivan looked back at Yao, and any doubts he'd had about earlier were gone in an instant. "I'm going to bring you to a place that's very special to me," he said as he sent Yao a nervous smile.

Yao's eyes widened in realization, but a matching smile fell into place on his own face as he nodded, and followed Ivan out the door.

…

The weather had improved greatly in these last few weeks. Winter was finally over, and the warmer weather was slowly melting the snow. Birds flew by and the faintest scent of heather wafted on the breeze as the sun glowed brightly from beyond the clouds. Ivan glanced down at the man walking beside him wordlessly for what was probably the seventh time in five minutes. "You look too beautiful in the sunlight, my wonderful Yao," Ivan half-whispered, and Yao blushed cutely. Ivan squeezed his hand in a sweet gesture, and though Yao didn't look at him, a tiny smile rose to his face.

The two walked hand-in-hand down a quiet sidewalk, the street to their right nearly devoid of cars. The couple continued on their path until Ivan nudged them towards a smaller path, which led to a gate of a small park. Yao watched quietly as Ivan pushed the gate open and waited for the Asian to step through.

"Is this the place that's special to you-aru?" Yao asked, casting another inquisitive gaze back Ivan's way.

"Да, almost." Ivan walked down a path familiar to him, not even sparing a second thought about where he was going. He had been here numerous times before, and now, for the first time ever, he was bringing someone with him. And Yao had no idea what was happening.

Finally, they arrived. Hidden under the trees, away from the park itself but with a great view of it, sat Ivan's park bench. As usual, it was empty, as if waiting for Ivan to come back. The sight brought a smile to Ivan's lips, and he led Yao over to it, the both of them sitting down there together. Yao looked at the Russian blonde curiously, his eyes asking for any sort of explanation.

Ivan took a breath. This was it. He was going to show Yao his heart. Ivan would hand it to him, and it would be up to Yao to decide what to do with it. One glance at the Asian's encouraging brown eyes, however, snuffed out his fears.

"I've been coming to this place since I was a child."

Yao watched Ivan's face with interest as he spoke.

"My parents were…not good people. My father was an alcoholic, and my mother was a drug addict. Sometimes they were both. My older sister, Katyusha, did all she could to protect me and Natalya from the truth, but we found out. It wasn't that hard."

Ivan felt his chest tighten instinctively. He hadn't even begun to speak, and already he was finding it difficult. He had never opened up to someone before, and it was frightening. But he trusted Yao, and if they were going to be in this relationship, he needed to know. Just like Yao had said Ivan needed to know about him.

"Well, sometimes when they were really out of it, they'd snap at the three of us. For no reason, really. They never beat us, but…they hurt us in other ways, too. One night, they threatened to punish Katyusha, but she was always so nice to me, so…I told them it was my fault. I don't remember what they were mad about exactly, but they believed me. They threw me out of the house and told me to spend the night outside. It was during the middle of winter."

Yao's eyes widened in disbelief. "Ivan, that's horrible!"

Ivan allowed a sad smile as he shook his head. "Not really. I mean, I suppose compared to other families it's not so great, but almost anything was better than the words they said."

"What…" Yao fidgeted, not sure if it was safe to ask what he wanted to ask. "What…kinds of things did they say to you-aru?"

Ivan shrugged. "All kinds of stuff. They told us we were weak, useless, that they never wanted anything to do with us. That sort of thing."

Yao looked away, his expression strained. "Ivan, I'm so sorry…that's…"

Ivan waved Yao's concerns away with his hand. "No, no, don't worry about it. I've come to terms with it. They just weren't cut out to be parents, and that's all there is to it. And anyway, they left back to Russia as soon as Katyusha was old enough to take care of Natalya and I. I haven't seen them since, good riddance.

"But while they were still around, and I got kicked out of the house almost every night, I used to come here, to this very same bench, to sleep at night. When Katyusha and Natalya found out, they worked together to make this scarf for me." Ivan lifted the fabric to his face as he lost himself in his memories, gently caressing it between his fingers. "They knew it was really cold, so they gave it to me to keep me warm."

"They sound like great sisters," Yao mused, leaning against Ivan's side.

"They were. I was lucky to have them around. I already told you they are weird, and they are really scary sometimes, but I love them." Ivan rested his head on top of Yao's, breathing in his heathery scent. He loved Yao. He loved him beyond words, and that he wasn't freaking out about Ivan telling him these things made Ivan love Yao all the more. "You had no idea how much it meant to me when you saved my scarf, Yao-Yao. And now, it not only reminds me of my sisters, but of you as well. That makes it even more special, Да?"

Yao sighed against Ivan's side, gently, thoughtfully. "If you say so," he whispered almost to himself. Ivan wrapped his arms around Yao in a comfortable hug and nuzzled further into his hair. He felt Yao shiver as he spoke near his ear.

"I do say so."

Yao didn't seem to have a response to that, so he remained still, allowing Ivan to revel in the warmth he provided. However, he still wasn't done telling his story, so quietly he asked, "Do you want me to continue?"

Yao nodded slowly. Ivan took the Asian's hand in his and interlocked their fingers, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see…well, I've never really had friends. The only people I talked to were my sisters, and even then, not so much. When I was…six?...I met these three boys. They would always play together at this one park in Russia, and I was lonely, so I tried to play with them. They were afraid of me, though. I guess it's because I didn't have any real people experience or something, but they were so afraid of me that they moved away, all three of them. Those were the last people I ever really trusted, until you, Yao-Yao."

Yao frowned in thought before turning to face Ivan, though still not letting go of his hand. "Why _do_ you trust me, Ivan? I lied to you. I…hurt you."

Ivan's heart cried out at the pained expression Yao was wearing, and he leaned in and gave Yao a gentle kiss, telling him without words that everything was okay, that everything Yao had ever done was forgiven. When Yao seemed to calm down again, Ivan leaned back against the bench, laying their entwined hands upon his chest. "I trust you because something in me knew you weren't like everybody else. Most people are only ever out for their own gain, Yao-Yao, but not you. You just wanted to matter to somebody. That's not a crime."

The two men sat in the following silence pressed against each other, watching as some kids from the park played on the swings. Ivan closed his eyes, letting his senses take in what really mattered – the breeze on his face, the trees rustling above him, the warmth of his lover lying against him. Ivan was, for the first time in his life, truly _content_. And that was all thanks to Yao.

"So, Yao-Yao…now that you know who I am, are you…do you think any different of me?"

Yao hummed in thought before replying nonchalantly, "A little, I suppose."

Ivan started to move away. Was it a mistake, telling Yao this? But even as he doubted, when he looked down at Yao's face, the Asian was _smiling._

"Um…Yao-Yao?"

Yao turned around, facing Ivan with a grin on his face. "Now, Ivan, I think I love you even more."

And Ivan laughed at that and held Yao close, embracing him in a tight hug. He never wanted to let go of this man. He never wanted to say goodbye to him, or spend another night without his presence, or live another second without his love. Yao was his everything. He pulled back just enough to tilt Yao's chin up so they could see each other's faces, his other arm still wrapped firmly around the Chinaman's waist.

"Yao, promise me you'll never leave me. Everyone always leaves me, but I think it would be your absence that would hurt me the most."

"Very well, Ivan." Yao blinked, his soul pouring from his eyes. "I promise I'll never leave you. You're the person I love more than anything."

"Yao," Ivan felt his eyes fill with unshed tears, but for once, he didn't care. "Yao, you're the only person I ever want to have the pleasure of loving. Я всегда буду твоим, моя Солнышко."

And although Yao did not know the words, he understood, for he leaned in and met Ivan's lips with his.

* * *

Я тебя люблю (ya tebya lyublyu) (Rus.)_ I love you_

Я всегда буду твоим, моя Солнышко (YA vsegda budu tvoim , moya solnyshka) (Rus.) _I will always be yours, my little sun._

_So...this is the last official chapter, but there's an epilogue after this, too, that fully wraps up this little story of ours. I hope you guys like it!_


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."_

― _A.A. Milne_

"Yao, you should try again. With this," Ivan gestured to the painting. The king of the burning heather field seemed to await an answer with him.

Yao shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "I...I can't, Ivan-aru. I'm not good enough. I'll just be turned down again, and I can't take that. I just...can't." Ivan strode over to his lover, taking his face gently in his warm hands.

"You can, Yao. I believe in you."

Yao raised his eyes, staring straight into Ivan's. The Russian's beautiful violets held only truth, encouragement, determination, love. The quiet voice in Yao's head - it had grown louder over the months he and Ivan had been together - told him it was alright. He could try. He had a chance.

His other voices protested, saying there was no way. He'd lose again. He'd finally fall down and break for good. They spoke with the voices of his siblings and every critic that had ever told him - in less harsh words - that he was pathetic.

But the good voice said no, and drowned them out with kind words and reminders that he wasn't as worthless as he'd come to believe. It spoke in his mother's voice. Gentle. Soothing. Strong.

Because his mother had been strong, right up until the end.

_No matter what challenges lie ahead, I know you can beat them. You've always been a fighter. You've always been strong. So always remember, and never, ever forget: you can. I might be losing my war, but I know you can win yours if you just keep fighting. In return, I'll fight for as long as I can, too. Deal?_

How had he forgotten? How had he forgotten the deal they'd made? Those words that had faded into obscurity now rang clearly in his head.

_'Oh, dear Māmā...I'll never forget again. I'm sorry I failed you so many times. I won't fail you again. I promise. And this time, I'll keep it.'_

A single tear found its way past his eyelashes and down his face. Ivan stared at him, then withdrew his hands as though he thought Yao's crying was his fault. But Yao wasn't crying. He was smiling.

"I'll try," was all he said, but it was all either needed to understand the gravity of what had just occurred.

Ivan believed in people again.

Yao believed in himself again.

...

"_Feeling appreciated is one of the most important needs that people have. When you share with someone your appreciation and gratitude, they will not forget you. Appreciation will return to you many times." -Steve Brunkhorst_

Ivan watched with anticipation as the judges made their way to the stage. These people held Yao's future in their hands, whether they knew it or not. They would determine whether he'd break, or become whole again. Ivan intertwined his fingers with Yao's, the gesture doing nothing to relieve the other's obvious fear.

What Ivan hated the most, and always had, was not knowing. If he'd made the wrong decision, if he'd pushed Yao too soon, he might have just doomed his love to shatter when he was just, finally, healing.

Ivan hated not knowing.

So he sat at Yao's side, awaiting the judges' announcement. The Chinese man was shaking uncontrollably, not even blinking as he stared with terrified eyes at the podium. No doubt he was reliving every rejection, every failure, every time his name was left out of a selection.

Ivan tightened his grip on Yao's hand.

"I believe in you," he whispered into the other man's ear, though fear gripped his heart just saying the words. What if Yao didn't win? What if Yao didn't make it anywhere close? Wouldn't that make him the real culprit in the destruction of Yao's heart?

_You have to win, Yao. For both of us._

_'You _will_ win.' _Ivan just had to believe that.

The main judge cleared his throat after the others had taken their seats. He glance down at the paper in front of him.

"After careful deliberation," he began, his voice booming through the room, "we have decided the winners of this year's competition. First, the sculpture segment."

The man went on to describe what they'd looked for, and then named the winners, but Ivan didn't listen. He could focus only on Yao, who looked as though he'd have a panic attack any second.

Then the judge moved on to the photography contest, then ceramics. Each time a winner was announced, they'd go up to the stage and receive their prizes: it was checks and ribbons, nothing huge, but Ivan knew that wasn't what really mattered. This was about Yao, proving to himself he could be someone.

"For our final competition, we have judged some of the finest paintings this state - and some others - have to offer. We looked for creativity and originality, content and feeling, as well as finesse and skill. It was a difficult choice, but we believe we have chosen the best three out of the vast number of entrees. Without further ado, third place winner Emma Manon with her piece, _Summer Rain_!"

A well-dressed woman with brown hair stood, walking with an excited pride to the podium. She seemed surprised, but legitimately ecstatic. Once given her third place ribbon and handed her check, she waved to someone in the crowd. As with the other winners, she stayed up there as the judge called out the next person.

Yao looked ready to burst into tears as the older man yelled, "Second place: Feliciano Vargas for his wonderful artwork, _Look Behind the Rainbow_!"

A thin man skipped up to the stage, smiling broadly but crying at the same time. He hugged the judge tightly, before taking his prizes and going to stand beside Manon. The judge, momentarily shocked, took a moment to regain composure before going on.

"And finally," Ivan's heart hammered in his chest, "our first place contestant. This person's painting moved all of our hearts with its raw, unhidden emotion. The painter's skill was beyond excellent, and the subject was perfectly original, like nothing we'd ever seen before."

Yao buried his face in his hands, shoulders trembling as he gave up hope.

"In first place: Yao Wang, magnificent painter of _The Flowers Will Always Return_!"

The announcement rang, loud and clear, through the room. Ivan's eyes widened with realization.

Yao had not only been one of the top three, he'd been the best.

Yao had won.

Ivan, filled with euphoria, gave his shocked boyfriend a light push to his feet. Yao, dazed, stumbled up to the podium and took the first place ribbon with shaky hands. The audience clapped animatedly, Ivan the most energetic of them all.

Yao had won.

His Yao.

When it was time, Yao followed Manon and Vargas back down the steps, the three splitting in three different directions as the crowd dispersed. They went back to those who had come with them, supported them.

Loved them.

Emma Manon ran to a taller man with spiky hair and a scar on his forehead, chattering to him joyfully. Feliciano Vargas jumped straight into the arms of a different tall man, before dropping to the ground and hugging another onlooker who looked similar to him.

Yao, on the other hand, still didn't seem to have fully comprehended. When he reached Ivan, the Russian smiled and took the ribbon, pinning it to his boyfriend's shirt without hesitation. Yao looked down at it, then back up at Ivan.

"See, Yao?" Ivan told him, holding his love's hands tight, "You can if you try."

At that moment, the artist's eyes filled with tears as he threw his arms around Ivan's neck and kissed him passionately. Some people stopped on their way out to watch, but Ivan paid them no mind. All that mattered was Yao.

When they finally pulled apart, both were grinning like madmen, though tears still streamed down Yao's face.

"I did it," Yao whispered, though fully audible to his companion, "I won."

Ivan nodded, earning him another kiss.

As the pair left the building, hand in hand, Ivan heard Yao murmur as the Asian's head lifted to the dark sky, "I didn't break my promise again, Māmā."

...

"_To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget."  
― Arundhati Roy, The Cost of Living_

Before either knew it, a year had passed.

Still, Yao's painting hung proudly on his wall, though he could now boast it was a prize-pinning artwork.

Still, Ivan wore that old scarf, though he could brag it had been hand-patched by his almost-famous artist boyfriend.

Still, both of them loved each other and spent nearly every waking moment at each other's side.

It was spring, and as Yao prepared to leave his apartment (despite having the money, he couldn't bring himself to get a better one - and he'd promised himself he'd only move out if it was to move in with the love of his life), he took one last look at his windowsill.

There sat a potted plant, taking in the sunlight streaming through the dusty window. It had nearly gotten Yao pneumonia when he'd bought it so long ago, but he couldn't help but think it had been worth it.

The heather now bloomed proudly, it's violet flowers glowing with life. It seemed to smile at him with its presence, an idea only strengthened when Yao looked to its predecessor, the field king.

_Go_, he seemed to say, _He's waiting for you._

Nodding in a half-salute to his creation, Yao grabbed his keys and left the apartment. He was meeting Ivan for tea; he couldn't afford to be late.

Outside the apartment building, Yao quickly spotted a simple red vehicle in the parking lot. Just a couple of months ago, he'd gone out and finally bought himself a car - nothing fancy, just a used _Mazda _\- and could actually sleep in on school mornings. That is, he now woke up at 6:00 instead of 4:00. It was a huge improvement, though, and Yao felt fully rested for the first time in decades.

Strapping on his seatbelt, he inserted his keys and started driving. About ten minutes later, when he was within easy walking distance of the same herbal tea shop they'd been going to since they first got together and even before, he parked the _Mazda _in some random lot and got out. The street was thick with people, but Yao didn't care. He always met Ivan on foot.

Hands in his pockets, Yao began his walk, shouldering past more than a few people.

He thought of Ivan, waiting for him with a smile on his childish face.

He thought of Ivan, greeting him with a kiss and kind words as he always did.

He thought of himself, not caring how he looked as he returned the gesture.

He thought of himself, taking Ivan's arm and leading him inside.

He thought of them together, laughing and grinning and being so _alive_ in a way neither had known before they'd met each other.

He thought of them together, both free from the chains they'd borne their whole lives.

Finally, he thought of the small box in his pocket, and how it would make their already perfect lives better.

And he wasn't afraid.

Not once, did he think this was a bad idea. Not once did he question himself this time.

Fingering the box, Yao peered over the many heads in his way as he approached the shop. He had to resort to standing on his toes, and even then it was difficult to see much. It was enough, though.

Towering over everyone in the busy crowd was Ivan, violet eyes locking onto Yao's brown ones.

No longer was their sadness in either.

No longer was either of their expressions guarded.

There was only love, and pure happiness.

Ivan waved. Yao smiled and waved back, pushing through the crowd to jump into his love's embrace, the box in his pocket rattling slightly as they greeted each other cheerfully. Ivan looked down at him in curiosity, and Yao smiled again. Without any trace of doubt, he got to one knee and pulled out the box, opening it to reveal a shining rings he spoke the long awaited words,

"Ivan, will you marry me?

"Actually, I was just about to ask you the very same thing."

_"From day to day, as you walk down a busy street in the large and modern and prosperous city in which you work and lie, dismayed and puzzled at how alone you can feel in this crowd, how awful it is to go unnoticed, how awful it is to go unloved, even as you are surrounded by more people than you could possibly get to know in a lifetime that lasted for millennia and then out of the corner of your eye you see someone looking at you and absolute pleasure is written all over the person's face, and then you realize that you are not as revolting a presence as you think you are." _― _Jamaica Kincaid__,_ _A Small Place_

END

* * *

_(Tem) Thank you so much to everyone who read this story of ours! It was an honor to write this with my sister, and it was tons of fun, too! And special thanks to all the reviewers - your words were very inspiring! I'm sorry we had to tear your hearts out to get here, but I hope it was worth it! And extra special thanks to N92.9141b, for encouraging us and offering help with Chinese translations. We couldn't have made it this far without you!_

_And to everyone else who took time out of their lives to read _Broken Eyes_, because there's little point in writing a story if there's no one to read it. Thank you for putting up with our random hiatuses and the like - I know how frustrating that can be! I also apologize for any incorrect translations within the story - neither my sister nor I know any Chinese, and I am only barely scraping the edge of learning Russian. So to everyone who offered advice, thank you, it was much appreciated! ^^_

_So, thank you again, and I hope you enjoyed reading _Broken Eyes in a Busy Crowd_!_

* * *

_(Robin) After 26 chapters, it's so hard to believe this is finally finished. I can say with confidence that this story is the best thing I have every written, and I highly doubt I'll surpass it any time soon. Thank you all so much for reading through this and sticking with us despite our erratic updates, it's really appreciated. And ditto to everything my sister said above._

_This just so happens to be the first real story I've ever finished, too. I have to say, it leaves me with a deep satisfaction, especially knowing how many of you enjoyed it. I'm one of those people who refuses to close the tab of a fanfiction until it is finished in the desperate hope of it being continued someday, and I'm sorry if any of you had to go through that (though it is a nice sentiment). I hope all of you enjoyed this emotional roller coaster known as _Broken Eyes _and are satisfied with how it turned out. It's been a real pleasure._


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